


Who am I to understand what have I become?

by Nidarian



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insanity, Masturbation, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidarian/pseuds/Nidarian
Summary: Fernando had ruined his life, and they were both aware of this.
Relationships: Fernando Alonso/Lando Norris, Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr, Lando Norris/Max Verstappen
Comments: 52
Kudos: 87





	1. Fear Inoculum

**Author's Note:**

> My first work :') this is sick and disturbing, but I hope you like it.

2021\. The races had finally restarted normally: no more empty stands, no more distancing during the interviews, no more masks. It seemed like stepping out of that infinite loop that was 2020, and it was finally possible to witness a bit of normalcy, at least in the racing world. The year before had not been easy for anyone, no team, no mechanic and no commissioner: Aston Martin had finally made the agreement with Vettel official by taking him as its driver, but it had risked a lot because of the suspicions aroused by other teams on the functioning of the cars and on the excessive similarity to the silver arrows, so much to earn the nickname "Pink Mercedes". Ferrari was probably doing worse: after the disastrous performance shown in that year, the fans were more skeptical than ever, especially towards the new driver who joined flanked by Leclerc: Sainz. Everyone knew that he was a very telented driver, but probably not even himself knew the pressure and responsibility that he was destined to carry on his shoulders running for the most sought-after team with more history and legend behind it. Unfortunately, he was sure of one thing: he was a second driver, so he would have been destined, most of the time, to stay behind Charles. Many defined him as "the new Barrichello", Ferrari would not have allowed the same accidents to occur again like two years earlier, mainly because Carlos was not Sebastian, and Charles was aware of this, perhaps he was secretly happy about this. It would have been a special season also for Lando: he had become very fond of his teammate, not that he didn't get on well with Daniel, on the contrary, but he knew that what the Spaniard was destined to suffer in the prancing horse's stable was not close at all to the peaceful and quiet atmosphere that the two lived in McLaren, and Lando was probably more terrified of it than Carlos. He often thought about it, the two had talked a lot about it, the Spaniard continually tried to reassure him, he knew that his friend was a particularly sensitive boy, and he also knew that Ferrari's previous performances would have made the team more insensitive, more fierce than ever, concentrated only on that one goal: to win again. There was no room to help the drivers, to give them comfort, they had to be consumed with all their strength to make the cars perform at their best. It wasn't a midfield team, it was a top team, one of the biggest and most substantial differences it had with McLaren. Nobody had forgotten the way they treated Sebastian, the way they turned their backs on him and the brutality with which they turned off the spark in his eyes. Their biggest fan, thrown away like that. Carlos was the one who had most observed the changes in the attitude and appearance of the German over the past season: he saw how he had aged suddenly, how his eyes had stopped smiling, how the passion and respect for the team was changing hand waning. If the Red Army reserved this treatment to one of the strongest drivers of all time, as well as their biggest fan and Tifoso, he did not even want to imagine how they would treat him, a second driver destined to stay for who knows how much behind his teammate, determined more than ever to show how much he was worth now that Vettel was no longer in the way. All this was a constant thought in the Spaniard's mind, but unlike the little and frightened Lando, he was very good at hiding fear and concern, both for his strong personality and for not causing even more anxiety to the poor Englishman.

"I will be able to handle this, Lando, as always." It was what he repeated more often to the 21 year-old every time one of the two opened this parenthesis or every time Ferrari did another of its stunts. Lando never said anything, simply looked at him with his eyes full of insecurity and who were constantly saying to him _please, don't leave me, I need you._

But this didn't just happen out of fear that their relationship would change: Lando had a secret that he carried within himself and that he had never revealed to anyone, not even to Carlos. And every time he gave him that look he tried desperately to make him understand, to make him understand that it was not only the situation of the change of team that made him so desperate, but that there was also something else that brought him a great discomfort, and the fact that Carlos could not catch it made him feel even worse. However, he could not blame him, because he had never told him about it face to face, he tried to tell him only with his eyes because he did not know how he would react to such a thing. But Carlos was not a psychic, he could not perfectly know everything that was going on in the Englishman's head when he could barely keep his in check.

So Lando stayed there, destroying himself internally and slowly forgetting what it meant to feel good, to feel serene.

All because of him.

***

"You must be the young talent." He said with a small smile as he placed a hand on the young Englishman's shoulder and lightly squeezed the skin under his suit in an almost paternal grip.

Lando didn't know why, but that contact made him shiver down his spine. In front of him was Fernando Alonso, one of the greatest drivers ever. He associated that discharge with the fact that the hold was so firm and secure on his trembling skin. He had always been afraid of men much older than him, especially those of Fernando's caliber, who had earned the nomination of being a great manipulator and who was not endowed with great patience and calm.

It was the first time that the two met directly, they only knew each other by fame or appearance. But now they were there, face to face, with an early physical contact by the Spaniard, likely to feel how tough that apparently defenseless and harmless Englishman actually was. They were practically the same height, but Lando felt much smaller than him, however he tried not to show it by trying as much as possible to maintain an expression that was not too modest and neutral, although inside of him he was making enormous effort even just to keep eye contact with the predator in front of him, he felt his gaze penetrate his skin more than the firm grip that tightened his collarbone.

"Eh, yeah... I guess." He returned showing the most sincere smile he could bring out. Seeing him wear the yellow and black suit that until last season was adapting to Daniel's gentle and reassuring body created almost a sense of nausea inside of him, he did not want to conceive how much the body that now stood under that suit was totally the opposite of sweet and loving, it gave him chills in every part of his body.

Around them there were all the drivers ready to position themselves to take the classic photo of the beginning of the season, and waiting for the photographer to give them the signal, Carlos intruded into the conversation, and Lando was eternally and silently grateful for this.

"The boy is always so modest, he doesn't get a swelled head." on the contrary, the red suit was perfect on him: Lando went from finding himself in front of a predator to meeting a protector in his field of vision, soft and soothing. He didn't wait a second longer. As soon as he saw Carlos position himself next to his countryman showing off one of his particular smiles that he reserved only when he spoke to the Englishman in question, Lando moved his gaze on him, feeling almost light and freed from an immense weight that was suppressing him more and more. The creepy mixture of black and yellow of a body that was perfectly capable of breaking him in a few seconds turned into a restful and Hellenic red light, like the one at the end of a tunnel.

Fernando also broke physical contact with Lando, abandoning the flesh that the latter felt like burning, as if a jellyfish had stung him.

The Englishman took a big sigh and managed to smile with a little more tranquility thanks to the fact that Carlos was there with him, despite being closer to Fernando than to himself. Lando knew the type of relationship that the two had, they got along very well, so he didn't want to immediately get the wrong impression or emphasized by his insecurities of the two-time champion, he preferred to put aside his initial sense of anguish by associating it with the emotion of having such a great driver in front.

"Well, there is no denying that you had fantastic seasons with a car that when I drove it could not even pass Q2." A laugh escaped him preceded by a big smile that also infected Carlos. Fernando was like this: outspoken, sometimes inappropriate, but everyone loved him for it.

"Hopefully it won't happen with this year's car, _hombre!_ " Carlos gently punched his friend's arm while he did not stop smiling for a moment.

Another electric shock ran down Lando's spine. This time, however, it wasn't in terror, it was adrenaline: what he was feeling was jealousy, envy. He was seeing one of his greatest friends laugh so spontaneously and expansively with someone who was a stranger to the Englishman, a nobody. He could have been one of the greatest drivers and also one of the most loved, but he didn't care: what he was seeing now was that that nobody was laughing and joking with someone who until last year was so open and almost fraternal only with Lando. Once again he struggled to maintain a calm and reserved expression, but inside of him he felt again that weight crush him and compress him.

"No, let's hope not!" The 39 year-old continued without removing that pathetic smile from his face.

"Anyway, I hope to have the honor of really seeing how much you are worth on the track, with my own eyes." His gaze rested again on the Englishman and his smile disappeared almost completely, regaining the restrained seriousness he had until recently.

Lando swallowed. He wanted to tell him _oh, of course you will, you will see it._ His body trembled and his heart beat wildly in a confused mix of emotions: he still felt an unmotivated sense of anguish, but this time he could not prevail over the frustration that had been created inside him. When it came to Carlos he could have faced the whole world if necessary, he didn't care who he was facing. Instead he just smiled and innocently said "I'll do my best." Followed by a tender smile that hid everything he would never have had the courage to say in words.

***

Six races.

Six races had passed since the beginning of the season, and Lando had already had the opportunity to have direct clashes with Alonso, not without contacts, sometimes even heavy.

In Bahrain...

***

"Oh, and Lando Norris hires dual champion Fernando Alonso in a wheel-to-wheel fight to take sixth place!" Croft exclaimed excited to see the past and the future collide in such a direct way.

The two were about to approach turn 1, so Lando was able to take advantage of the entire straight and the DRS to take Fernando's wake and find himself alongside him just before entering the turn, generating quite a few sparks with his car.

Unfortunately, the overtaking was not as clean as he hoped, since Lando moved as much as possible on the curb so as not to touch the Spaniard who, on the contrary, went extremely to the right hitting him, causing a break in the front wing of the Englishman and a loss of control in the car of the two-time world champion, leading him to spin.

"Oh, and they touch each other! Alonso and Norris touch each other, the Spaniard loses control of the car!" This time it was Brundle who intervened in ecstasy.

"I have a broken wing, he closed the door on me." Lando said frighteningly calm, he did not care that Alonso was the one with whom he had contact, he concentrated totally on the race and would have thought of the rest afterwards, since he knew perfectly well that it wasn't his fault.

"What the hell did that Norris do?!" On the contrary, Fernando did not deny himself, the adrenaline that flowed in his body did not help him at all to maintain lucidity, at that moment if he had Lando in front of him he would probably have put his hands on him, but once the epinephrine would have dissolved he would have resolved the conflict with words, as a good mature adult person. He put the car back straight and returned to the track continuing his race, losing some position in regaining control of the car.

After several laps the race ended and the commissioners decided to assign a five second penalty to Alonso who made him drop from eighth to tenth position, gaining only one precious point, while Lando had to face one more pitstop to change the wing, but still managed to finish with points, in sixth position.

After the race the two did not speak to each other, they both knew who the fault was and although it did not seem they were peaceful and calm towards the other, also demonstrating it in conferences and post-race interviews. The last thing Lando wanted was to turn against Alonso: he was not an angry guy who was looking for mange, he always tried to maintain healthy relationships with everyone off the track despite the accidents that unfortunately happened during the races, and Fernando admitted he was wrong, despite not apologizing directly to the Englishman.

***

In China...

***

"And here again Lando Norris and Fernando Alonso ready to face an inevitable clash in turn 6!" Croft narrated, followed by as much emphasis from his right-hand man.

"These two never cease to amaze us, they always give us incredible emotions!" Brundle continued, not knowing what would have happened next.

This time it was Fernando who attempted to overtake the Englishman, who saw him approach and inevitably get bigger and bigger in his mirrors. To avoid a similar situation from the previous race, they both left much more space. Fernando managed to overtake Lando right in that corner, but the McLaren driver didn't accept it: he joined him again and accompanied him along turns 7 and 8, almost touching each other, until at turn 9 it was Lando who prevailed, taking strongly the fifth position in a wonderful duel.

"Look at that, Martin! Look what is Lando Norris doing!" Croft hadn't stopped for a second describing what their eyes were admiring, and almost burst into a liberating scream when it was his fellow countryman to prevail in the clash.

"Incredible, truly incredible! What a talent this guy has, to overtake like that a two-time world champion!" Brundle was exalted in the same way, as well as entire stands of people who stood up waving British flags and wearing McLaren shirts, although they were not the only ones who did it: that overtaking was so spectacular that almost everyone had to admit it and stand up in prey euphoria.

"Woo!" Lando was genuinely happy not only to have carried out such an incredible action, but also to have given Fernando a hard time. Off the track he could also be a frightened and emotionally sensitive boy, but with the visor lowered he didn't care about anything, he was ready to face anyone without fear.

The McLaren box was in fibrillation: the mechanics applauded and cheered and the engineers congratulated with Lando.

"Fuck!" On the contrary, Fernando was frustrated by that situation: out of the corner of his eye he could see the thousands of people standing not for him, but for a 21 year-old driver who has been in Formula 1 for three years and was already in front of him from two races. He felt humiliated, he was frustrated, angry.

"Keep your head down Fernando, and go get him back." Everyone knew Alonso, especially on track: aggressive and rude. It was his driving style, even more exaggerated if he had to face someone who had much less experience than him.

"You can count on it." his tone became more serious than ever and he summoned all his concentration to take back what was of his property and not to risk taking a hit on his honor.

The race ended, Lando managed to defend himself well but unfortunately Fernando was too clever and empathetic for him and he had learned many of his moves and memorized his driving style, managing to overtake him after a few laps.

Fernando had arrived in front of him, but something did not make him totally satisfied with it: it was becoming like a personal thing, like something that concerned only him and Lando, and that they had to solve in this way if it was necessary.

After the race and after the situation calmed down for both of them, Fernando went to the Englishman to congratulate him.

Lando was doing one of the usual post-race interviews, when he suddenly felt something touching his shoulder blade several times. He immediately recognized who he was: it seemed to him as if he were reliving that moment before the start of the season, that hand prickly like rose thorns on his taut and delicate skin that burned like fire.

He turned quickly and the first thing he saw was Fernando smiling and holding out his hand to congratulate him.

Honestly, Lando didn't expect it. He was very convinced that the Spaniard could not stand him, that he saw him only as a stupid boy who was obscuring him, he would have sworn with all that Fernando was such a guy, but perhaps he had to change his mind. The smile that was turned to him was warm, genuine, without ulterior motives, as well as the attitude with which the Renault driver put his hand out to the Englishman.

For the first time Lando returned his smile, even though it was much more contained and reserved, and held out his hand, much smaller than the 39 year-old. The man's grip was firm and strong, probably still slightly soaked with adrenaline, so firm that it was hurting Lando, but he didn't show it.

The two drivers shook their shoulders in mutual respect and sportiness while still holding hands. Lando wanted to let go, that tightness did not feel pleasant on his skin still sweaty and stressed by the Grand Prix, but Fernando showed no sign of loosening it, nor releasing it.

The Renault driver kept congratulating the young driver for his ability to keep his cold blood so well, and Lando could only thank and feel honoured by these words, even though he still didn't feel totally calm inside him: there was something in that man's gaze, on his skin, in his body, that Lando just couldn't swallow without feeling a sense of bitterness and anxiety in his mouth.

Some photographers managed to capture the shots of that iconic moment that they were having, so much that it became popular everywhere: in magazines, on newspapers, on Instagram... they were becoming icons of the sport. <<The patron of the past with the star of the future.>> was the most common title preceded by those images, and Lando could only look at those pictures and think that all this was becoming something really big.

***

And while their relationship seemed to proceed calmly and peacefully, the disaster occurred in Spain.

***

It was the home Grand Prix for Fernando, he had a lot of pressure on him. He wanted to do well, he HAD to do well. For himself, for the team and for the fans, who expected so much from a champion like him with a return with a bang like his. He was more determined than ever to do well here, he would duel with anyone for any position, this was his Grand Prix and nobody could have taken him away the chance to do well.

So he believed.

On the umpteenth lap of the race in which he was struggling to hold an admirable fourth position, he met the last person he hoped to see along his path: Lando. He was in third position, and would have not let anyone pass to steal him that podium.

But Fernando, oh, Fernando was like an animal when it came to devouring other drivers, especially if he was at his home. And especially if the driver in question was Lando.

As soon as the Englishman saw him in the mirrors he swallowed. He wasn't afraid, he wanted that third position, he wanted that podium, at the cost of fighting with Fernando from here until the end of the race. He forcefully tore off one of the visors and prepared to be hired in the champion's sights. The two accompanied each other with gracefulness in turn 9 along the straight side by side, Fernando with the DRS open. The grandstands and commentators exploded in exults and ecstasies, while on the track they were more aggressive than ever with their hearts that almost beat with the same rhythm and adrenaline. Shortly before approaching the turn, however, Lando's car presented a problem: it felt like something bursting in the car and he was no longer in control. He tried to use the steering wheel but it was all useless, the car went straight. He had a few fractions of a second to think, and the first and only thing that came to mind was to brake. Unfortunately for him, however, Fernando was on his right, so the latter, in trying to take the turn, found himself in front of Lando's car with the wheels completely straight and the inability to steer. He tried to avoid it, but it was useless: in a very short time the two cars touched and crashed off the track in the middle of the gravel in a discreet impact, slipping on the stony ground for several meters before stopping totally.

Lando had his hands on his visor, he didn't want to see where he was and what had happened. He stopped paying attention to the adrenaline trying to regain lucidity, and realized that his heart was pounding in his throat, that he was afraid. Afraid of what Fernando would have said or worse, he would have done. He already knew that telling him he had a problem with the car would be all in vain, he knew he was a dead man. He had ruined the home grand prix to the one who was becoming his rival, who treated him with respect and esteem. All over, in that contact. Inside he knew that at that moment he had earned the hatred of many fans, that no one would have loved him as before, not when you do a stunt like that to Fernando Alonso. He put all the blame on him: the guilt of having found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, the guilt of having made himself an enemy right away, and now the awareness that this accident will not go unnoticed under his nose.

As all these thoughts roamed uninterruptedly in the head of the young driver who still hadn't hinted at taking his hands off his visor, the marshalls broke in to help with the removal of the cars from the track.

"Norris!" They had to repeat several times before Lando heard their voices and looked at them through the lowered visor. His eyes were wet, he still didn't know if it was for the heat and the adrenaline or if he was actually crying.

He looked around in panic as if he had been in another dimension until then and finally, after carefully removing the steering wheel, he got out of the car. He looked at it from the outside, it was not in good shape: it was scratched by the gravel, its rear wing was broken and its side was stripped from the impact with the Renault. While observing the crane and the marshalls who were about to remove the car from the track, he turned in the direction of the car that was involved in the impact with him, and what he saw paralyzed him on the spot: next to it stood Fernando, completely motionless, with head slightly lowered. Both had their visors down, but one could feel the expressions on the other: Lando was totally invaded by pure panic and terror from head to toe, he felt like Fernando was scrutinizing his soul to find the most painful and cruel way to make him pay for it. He was visibly shaking, that long black stripe covered the real expression of the Spaniard, which however was so intense to be able to penetrate both his and Lando's visor, digging into his bones and causing him physical pain. His gaze at that moment could both freeze and light up anything, and it was the same reactions that he caused precisely in Lando: he felt cold, he was sweating as if he were in the middle of the desert, but they were freezing drops, below zero, imbued with negative energy.

Even if he wanted to try, Lando would never have been able to show himself strong in front of the predator, at that moment it was nothing but a pathetic prey in the lion's mouth, and the worst was yet to come.

The other drivers were on the track behind the Safety Car, and as soon as they noticed the accident, each driver had a different reaction.

"Is Lando okay?" Only Daniel and Carlos reacted the same way, worrying about their partner and friend respectively.

"Yes, he is fine." This was what the engineers answered by observing the helicopter images showing the two drivers staring at each other from several meters away in indecipherable expressions for whoever was witnessing that moment, except for the drivers themselves.

Lando could not understand how he had managed to not pass out because of the hot Spanish sun beating hard on his helmet-protected head, but above all for the fear and fright he was feeling in those horrible and interminable seconds in which he did not distract not even a moment the view from that visor.

A marshall approached Fernando and placed a hand on his shoulder, which was enough to bring him back to Earth. He walked towards a low wall to exit the track without interrupting eye contact with Lando until he was actually in front of the exit and had to climb over.

Lando did the same thing, looking away from the driver only when he decided to do it, he was absolutely sure that if he had broken eye contact with Fernando ahead of time, the latter would have run after him. It was the only thing that was keeping him alive at the time. As soon as he disappeared from his sight the 21 year-old began to see again. He breathed a huge but timid sigh trembling and distorted by tears, his lungs were burning, he wanted to disappear.

Since this contact took place practically at the beginning of the race, the two had time to do the few post-race interviews explaining the accident and then return to their rooms to rest.

Or at least that was what Lando hoped to do.

In the post-race interviews Fernando was expressionless. His eyes conveyed pure anger, his voice was robotic and monotonous and his responses were dry, "Yes," "No," "I don't know."

Lando, on the other hand, was the opposite: he was clearly terrified, his voice trembled and he could hardly come up with the words. He wanted to go back to his room and stay there until every trace of negative emotion disappeared from his body, even if it had taken days.

When both were finally free, Lando almost ran to his garage, while the engine sounds of the other cars were no longer a pleasure but an annoying injury to his hearing. He wanted silence, the only thing he wanted to hear was his cry.

Unfortunately for him, however, just before he managed to get back to the garage, a voice behind him called his name.

He stopped on the spot, and immediately felt the tears clouding his vision, his heart in his throat. All he could repeat inside himself was _no no, please, please, I didn't do anything, it's not my fault, I'm afraid, leave me alone._

He could have run to the box and be the gazelle who runs away from the cheetah to save his life, but it wasn't like that. He was not a coward. He had to face his fears.

He gathered all his courage thanks to a big sigh and closing his eyes he turned abruptly, observing his monster, a few meters away.

"Come with me." He simply motioned him with two fingers to follow him and then begin his walk to who knows where.

Although there were several meters between them and the Spaniard was turning his back, he was absolutely sure that Lando would not have taken advantage of that situation to escape. Five races and a few conversations about him with Carlos were enough to understand what he was like.

The Englishman was in pain with every step he took, his legs did not want to move, they acted against him, so he had to try to follow Fernando's step, always keeping a certain distance.

This was the only time when Lando could actually not look at him and not have him in his field of vision: he looked at the ground, aware that in a short time he would be closer to him than ever.

In fact, in a few minutes, the two reached the Renault driver's motorhome. Lando raised his head and feared the worst, thought of all the possible and imaginable things that Fernando was ready to do to him, and that he would not hesitate to do. He wanted to shout, he wanted to burst into tears there and at that moment, instead he went directly to the wolf's den, opened a few seconds earlier by Fernando and joined shortly after by Lando.

The latter entered and remained as close to the edge of the door as possible, near the exit.

"Close the door, the keys are attached." Fernando, on the other hand, was totally at ease, took a glass of water and drank it, waiting for Lando to obey.

So he did, sighing again and even struggling to close the door while shaking, he had definitively closed any possibility of escape.

Even when he was turned to lock the door he feared a feline shot by Fernando, instead as soon as he returned to having him in his field of vision he was still there, with his glass in his hand staring at Lando from the head and feet in an indecipherable expression. Anger? Probably. Sadism? Possible. Hunger? Who can tell. That man was a mystery to Lando, and that terrified him even more.

"How was your race, Lando?" He sported a closed, partial, fake smile.

Lando swallowed, his name sounded very bad in Fernando's mouth, it looked like the name of a murderer. "W-what?" That one, labored word came out very badly from the Englishman, so much that he had to clear his throat and swallow again despite having no more saliva. He was totally dried up.

"I asked you how was your race, it doesn't seem like a difficult question." He repeated in a slightly more impatient and authoritarian tone. He put the glass in the sink and looked back at the young man, only the kitchen counter separated them.

Although the change in his voice was minimal, Lando noticed it immediately and felt it prickly in his skin. He squeezed his legs, the most painful shiver came from there.

"We- we took ourselves out." he continued hesitantly once again, despite all the efforts he made he could not keep his voice stable and linear at all. He was tired from the race, he still had the racing suit on and his heart hadn't stopped pumping hard for a moment. It was already inexplicable how he managed to keep on his feet.

"Wrong answer." He tilted his head and smiled again. It was a sadistic, sick, far from normal smile.

Lando took a breath. "I-I don't understand." He didn't even know where he found the courage to contradict Fernando. It wasn't his fault, and he wasn't going to move you about it.

"Oh yes, you do Lando, you're a smart boy." He walked slowly, putting himself shortly after the counter, never taking his eyes off the young man. Now the only thing that separated them was a meter, exaggerating.

"But that's what happened." Lando looked to the ground, could no longer maintain eye contact, and knew that this would be a big mistake.

"No, I don't think so." Fernando contradicted him, his voice was becoming less and less belonging to a human being and increasingly belonging to a psychopath.

The boy was stiff as marble, immobile, unshakable. He no longer had the strength to even move his fingers, he was stuck in that insecure and frightened position, with his eyes on the ground.

"Look at me." intimated the man, taking a step towards his prey, further canceling the little distance that separated them. His tone was grave, baritone, authoritarian.

Lando loosened his expression and began to pant with his mouth half open. He narrowed his eyes, more terrified than ever, and once he opened them again his vision was halved because of the tears that formed there. He felt like vomiting, he felt his throat and stomach knotted like ropes.

"I said look at me." Another step. Another octave less in his voice, a snarl with clenched teeth.

Fernando was close, too close. Lando could feel his presence attack him and crush him without even touching him. When he thought he was really rigid, his body showed him the opposite: he felt as if he was turning into stone, as if the gaze of the man in front of him was like Medusa's. Still, he opened his eyes again, pursed his lips, raised his head, and looked straight into Fernando's eyes, who was now only a few centimeters away.

Lando was crying desperately, he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore, now the only hope for him was that the Spaniard would feel a little pity for him and leave him in peace, even if in his heart he unfortunately knew that it would not be like this.

"I'll ask you once again: how was your race?" Fernando looked up annoyed, those childish sobs that he heard coming out of Lando's mouth were doing nothing but annoy him even more.

Between sobs, Lando could barely speak. "We took oursel-"

He didn't even have time to finish the sentence that Fernando punched the wall next to him, not far from his face, generating a thump that increased his dismay even more.

Lando's little breath remained in his throat. He could no longer breathe, he was gasping in look for air as if he were in apnea. His lungs were burning, he was sobbing with tears and the only thing he wanted at the moment was that everything ended soon. He had never felt so much terror in his life, even when he touched death during his car accidents.

"Wrong answer." Fernando continued, totally impassive and emotionless in his voice. The fact that Lando was having a panic attack in front of him was not changing his initial intention.

"I took you out! I took you out!" He screamed as if they were his last words. He felt asthma, his whole body was burning, his vision was clouding, he felt his head burst. Yet he was still standing facing the monster.

"Good, little one." He smiled, he was feeling sick happiness.

Lando continued to cry uninterruptedly, more desperate and broken than before. He coughed, wanted to throw up, but his stomach was so knotted and frozen that he could not even make him reject.

"Ssh, sh sh sh." Fernando put a finger on Lando's lips to tell him to stay quiet, and Lando was not realizing he was collapsing on his own legs, the man had become taller than he was, so now the boy looked at him from below, with his head held high.

"Don't worry, there's no need to get nervous." Fernando bit his lip and looked at the young man, mostly observing his lower body parts.

The boy moved his head sideways trying to remove those slimy and prickly fingers from his face, but Fernando continued.

"You've been good, you understood who was wrong." The hand that was touching his lips now moved, stroking his cheek first, then gently descending towards his neck.

Every touch of him was like boiling oil on an open wound, and every time he came off, even if for a very short time, Lando felt a fictitious relief, which however lasted very little because that monster's body was practically attached to his.

"But you have also been very bad. And do you know what happens to those who have been bad?" He asked ironically in a childish tone, as if done when trying to communicate with infants.

Suddenly, in a cautious and slow movement, Fernando grabbed Lando's neck and squeezed it enough to let him breathe, but strong enough to hurt him.

Lando exhaled and closed his eyes again, squeezing them to keep them tight as much as possible. He was panting, crying, the beating of his heart that wanted to come out of his chest was visible from the outside.

That so labored and fatigued breath was causing chills of adrenaline along Fernando's back, who in response ran away a malicious laugh and opened his legs positioning them laterally to Lando's, bringing their bodies even closer, so as to finally let them touch. With his other hand he opened Lando's suit and began to explore his body, putting his hand under his shirt and stroking as much bare skin as possible, while panting he licked the boy's lips, bit them, rubbed himself against him.

Lando wanted to die. That was the feeling he felt. He wanted to feel the pleasant embrace of death that would have freed him from all that pain and all those evils. Instead, the only death in front of him now had the shape of Fernando Alonso, and there was nothing he could do to get rid of it. If before his body did not react in any way and with no stimulus, now he felt as if he was burning alive from the inside, of a spontaneous, unnatural fire. Those hands that were touching him and holding him tight to not let him run away hurt like sharp blades, that breath so malicious and sick penetrated his mouth, causing him more than anything the urge to vomit, and that body so majestic and immense surrounded him totally, reminding him how small and helpless he was in front of his greatness.

Fernando laughed again, panting even more. He raised his hand that was studying Lando's hips, abdomen, back, to unbutton his suit and get rid of it. He took the young man's wrist forcefully and pushed his hand into his underwear.

Lando initially tried to resist, succeeding with not even he knew what strength to stiffen the arm and block the intent of Fernando, but it did not last long: the latter roared and tightened even more the grip that held Lando's neck, and he really felt the oxygen missing from his brain, so he could no longer keep his arm muscle stiff, so Fernando could continue with his sick game. He managed to put Lando's hand inside him and make him touch his member, already half hard, while the other hand softened his grip on his throat, allowing him to breathe again.

Lando was starting to see everything black. His temples throbbed violently and his urge to vomit occurred more more vivid throughout his body.

Fernando moaned in the pleasure of the moment, Lando's boiling hand did nothing but harden him even more. "Move it." He panted intimidatingly.

Lando could do nothing but desperately whisper _please, please, please,_ praying to anyone who was listening that this would end soon.

"I said move it, you stupid faggot. Do I have to show you how to do it?" Fernando thundered, frustrated and authoritarian. He pulled Lando's head forward thanks to the hand that held his neck to be looked directly into the eyes. "Do you think I don't know how well you take it in your mouth or that you wank Carlos, that fucking gay?" He snarled, sinking his fingers into Lando's throat, so much that it hurt.

Lando no longer even had the strength to sob, he was only crying. It was not only being abused physically, but also morally. He felt completely emptied, unwilling to live, and that bastard was not yet finished.

"Move it." He repeated, staring straight at Lando, digging his soul too.

The poor boy could not help but obey and start moving that hand back and forth, along the entire length of Fernando's member, who has now become hard.

The latter tightened his grip on Lando's neck in adrenaline, while the other hand dipped his fingers into the young man's ass, violating him more than ever.

" _Diòs,_ yes." He laughed and moaned in the Englishman's mouth, biting his lip.

The vomiting became more alive than ever in Lando's stomach, he wanted to let it go and flood that bastard monster in his own disgust, and then probably die soon after, but something made it stay there, stuck in his belly, to turn over on itself like a rough sea.

"Faster." Fernando ordered panting, closer and closer to the peak.

Lando obeyed almost immediately increasing the speed in his movement and feeling Fernando's member getting bigger and more venous.

He groaned again, and finally came in his suit and on Lando's hand, which was invaded by yet another retch.

Fernando panted heavily and loosened his grip from Lando's throat, biting his lip and pulling out the hand that was in his underwear, soaked in his liquid.

"Lick it." Fernando held Lando's wrist tightly, so much that he would surely leave a mark afterwards, just as he would leave it on his neck.

Lando looked at Fernando with a beaten dog look. The red face, the eyes soaked with tears, had given up all hope that the man had even a trace of humanity inside him. He had given up all hope that he was actually a man.

Holding his breath he licked every trace of liquid away from his hand, feeling the vomit rise again, then swallow the last traces and feel them reach that shapeless and unstable mass that stopped in his stomach.

Fernando pushed Lando by the neck towards the floor, making him fall violently to the ground, with his face turned towards the ground. He did not wait any longer that he crawled over him, pulling him forcefully by the hair and raising his head.

"Make something like this happen again and this in comparison will be only a taste of what I will do to you." He growled aggressively in his ear and then violently let go of his head, making him slam his face against the cold floor.

Fernando finally took off, going to undress and wash his suit.

Lando was finally able to find some comfort in that icy ground, putting himself in a fetal position and crying like a child. He knew he would never recover from such a thing, that he would have trauma forever. Inside him, he hoped that what Fernando would have done to him was to kill him, it would have been a relief for his soul. But inside him, unfortunately, he knew that he was not the type of person who would let him go like this, without making him suffer enough to make him forget what it means to live.

"Get up and go away, you dirty faggot." Fernando returned after a few minutes, changed and dressed in normal clothes. He stood next to Lando, still curled up on the floor. The latter with difficulty got on all fours, and with just as much effort he managed to get up on his feet, he could finally get out of that hell.

Fernando gave him one last, horrible warning, taking him by the scruff. "Speak to someone about this and I will make you suffer as long as you have breath in your body, you son of a bitch." He left him pushing him violently forward, Lando was finally free.

Shaking, he opened the door, finally finding himself outside. He felt his lungs filling with the warm Spanish's wind but still natural and healthy. None of this, however, could alleviate him from what he felt within himself. He felt emptied, without a soul, without a sense to move on. He tried to get to McLaren box as soon as possible by lifting the hood of the suit to avoid showing the marks on his neck and put his hands in his pockets to hide those on the wrists. He arrived at the garage shortly afterwards with his head down so as not to be seen by anyone in the garage, too busy monitoring Daniel's race. He reached his room, slammed the door and threw himself on the sofa, letting go of all the few remaining tears and falling asleep there without even noticing, flooded with bitter drops. The tiredness he was feeling was so heavy that his body said _enough, now rest._ What made him feel even worse than he already was, was the knowledge that no one would ever know the type of person Alonso really was, he would be forced to watch Carlos laugh and joke with him without him knowing his true nature and never knowing what he did to him. He couldn't have told anyone, not even his parents.

"A driver? Abusing you? Fernando Alonso?! What are you talking about!" It would have been the phrase that everyone would have addressed, from the first to the last. Even Carlos, his greatest friend, would have never believed him. He would have been forced throughout his career to see Carlos prefer someone else to him who was actually anything but a human being. Fernando had ruined his life, and they were both aware of this.


	2. Lucid Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos took another sigh, this time almost aching and suffocated, as if he had held his breath until then. That was no longer Lando, and Carlos was more terrified than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter of my first work! I tried to represent as faithfully and realistically as possible PTSD symptoms. I hope I did it well :')

The days that followed were far from easy for Lando: he had no intention of seeing anyone, much less doing something, starting after the grand prix. He just wanted to take a plane and go home to be with his silence, instead he received something else.

Daniel first...

***

"Lando, are you all right?" there was a knock on the door of the teammate's room in the garage. "You've been locked in there for hours." Lando had skipped all post-race briefings and conferences, spent most of that time trying to sleep peacefully, which was understandably impossible for him because of his mood.

"Leave me alone." They were the only words that the Englishman had the strength to say, in an apathetic and robotic tone.

Daniel took a big sigh staring at the locked door, then retraced his steps and returned to the central hall of the garage, where Zak Brown waited for news about his driver. The Australian could do nothing but shake his head in a "no" that said more than words could do.

Lando hadn't moved at all. He was still in the same position as when he closed himself in the room, abandoning himself on the sofa, more than two hours earlier. Several parts of his body were falling asleep because of the little blood flowing inside, but he preferred it that way. The less he listened to his body, the better. Every movement he made was like a wound that opened again. Unfortunately his head was far from sleeping, on the contrary... every time the 21 year-old was about to fall asleep, his mind made him relive those horrible moments in a loop, as if to always keep him alert and attentive to every danger around the corner, as if to make him understand that nobody could be trusted in this world. "You are no longer the driver I met two years ago," "You are no longer able to run," "You can smile as well," and many other voices echoed in the young boy's head as he just tried to imagine what his life and his career would have been like from that moment. He could not keep it silent, and that did nothing but further tear apart his psyche. Yet he stayed there, lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling without any expression, as if a war was not happening inside him. Anyone who looked at him from the outside could not even imagine what the boy was experiencing internally, too young to totally lose faith in the people around him and in men. Too young to totally lose his smile.

***

Then Max, Charles ...

***

_> Lando, Charles and I are about to play FIFA and we wanted to ask you if you were going to join by chance. I've tried to call you three times since this morning. Stay in touch, if you want._

**Tue, 9.30PM**

_> Lando, are you all right? We haven't heard from you for days, we're worried about you... Did something happen? Talk to someone, don't stay alone, please._

**Wed, 7.10pm**

Many other drivers had worried about the young man, always cheerful and ready to go out with his colleagues or even just spend time with them playing online. He was always active on social networks and ready to post the report of the race he had had, even when it went badly. He was always the first to propose improvised meetings or championships online, always the first to snatch a smile from others, always on every teenager's mouth and not only. Many fans had written to him in direct after they saw the last photo of the Englishman who was published online by a photographer who captured him: he had been the first to leave the circuit while in the pits there was still the adrenaline of the race. He was alone, with his head down, his hands in his pockets and a look that made them think of everything except that he was fine. Many associated it with the fact that his race ended early, but others were not accepting it, especially after having seen the post-race interviews published by some pages in which the young man struggled even to formulate a sentence of complete meaning and to keep his voice linear trying desperately not to let interviewers understand that he was going to cry.

But Lando didn't care about any of this: it had been days since he had closed himself in his little world, totally abandoning his phone and any contact with the world of social networks and with other drivers. He spent his days in his room trying to distract himself playing the Playstation alone or trying to sleep, failing most of the time. He felt continually without strength despite spending most of his time sitting or lying down, he had neither the desire nor the urge to train himself, he had stopped driving with the simulator to keep his reflexes fresh and he was also thinner. His mother entered his room only to leave him something to eat that most of the time remained untouched and to try to have even a small dialogue with him in which she tried to make him understand that it was not necessary to feel so bad for a race that went wrong, receiving no response. But as soon as she tried to mention the fact that many people were worried about him (herself more than anyone else) and his career, Lando let himself go to a sonorous "May you leave me alone?" Too energetic and passionate for the physical condition he was in. Only in that moment she decided to leave him alone until he decided to took the initiative to leave his lair himself, with the immense terror that it would take long for it to happen.

Lando hated these moralistic discourses. He hated that people only worried about him because they didn't know when and if he would have raced again, nobody really cared about him. He didn't want to see anyone, everyone was selfish and thought only of themselves or their good, everyone. It was on everyone's mouths because there had been no news of him for days, not because people were really worried about him. He was a star, a celebrity, and people didn't like the fact that they didn't know about his every little move, or at least that was what he thought. The fact that he was always the center of attention had never made him feel different, but right now he wanted to scream everyone _go fuck yourself. You only care about my career in this fucking Formula 1, you can't even imagine how I feel now having to keep my mouth shut on a fact that if I screamed it to the whole world I would ruin myself and the whole world behind this fucking sport._ The only thing that stopped him from speaking was, as usual, the thought of making someone else important to him feel bad. His passion for driving was not dead, but it was more the concern of breaking thousands of hearts of his fans and colleagues. He was unselfish, too unselfish. He thought more of others than himself, he didn't care about the consequences that he would have had if he had spoken, but the fact that he would certainly have brought down a myth and a pillar of Formula 1, admitted and not granted that someone would have believed him.

***

But the coup de grace arrived with the last person he hoped to see and hear on that occasion.

***

While his phone did not stop for a moment to receive silent notifications abandoned in a corner of his room, Lando was in front of the mirror in his room watching his body, increasingly worn. It wasn't what he was paying attention to, he always saw himself the same, but the fact that the marks on his neck and wrists were almost totally gone. He had spent the past four days wearing long-sleeved shirts or loose-fitting sweatshirts despite being full May and England was oddly hot and humid. There were few times when he turned off the air conditioner, his room was almost always very cold to appease the body heat that heavy clothes made him give off. Although his skin was almost healed, however, he still decided to dress loose and heavy. The less he saw the curves and especially the signs of his dirty and horrible body, the better it was for him. It almost sucked, he felt impure and violated every time he undressed to change or went to take a shower, he almost no longer felt his own body.

Just as he was about to go to the simulator to try and drive a little, someone knocked several times on his bedroom door.

There was no response from Lando, who in the meantime decided to sit down at his driving position.

They knocked again, several times and with more energy.

"I'm not hungry." It was what Lando said, sensing that it was his mother who brought him yet another ration of food, but it wasn't her.

More knocks on the door. Lando began to grow impatient.

"I said I'm not hungry!" He exclaimed looking at the entrance to his room.

"Lando." Finally the voice beyond the room spoke, and the boy needed very few moments to realize who he was. For the first time in several days, he felt as if his body would reactivating, restarting. His heart felt a hint of what he was used to pumping during the races, soaked in adrenaline. A shiver ran through his back at an almost too reactive speed for the stimuli he had been accustomed to receive in those days. It was as if his physique, unlike his subconscious, was waiting for nothing else. He was tired of vegetating, of having become so apathetic and worn out. Although the room was freezing, the 21 year-old felt a sudden flash of heat invade the sweatshirt in which he had taken refuge and felt like suffocating inside it.

He swallowed panting, then slowly stepped to open the door. His breath almost remained in his throat when he realized that he was not dreaming but that that he really heard that voice, that he was now really in front of Lando.

"Carlos?" He said as if to confirm. His gaze changed suddenly, he felt tears growing more and more alive in his eyes. A part of him was saying _no no, what are you doing here, you shouldn't be here, you're the last one who should be here now_ , while the most youthful, naive and frightened part was repeating infinite _thanks_ to the sight of what for Lando, at that moment, was like a guardian angel.

The Spaniard said nothing, stared at the young boy with pursed lips to try to decipher his body, for what it was possibile to see out of the sweatshirt, starting from his face: he was different, pale, too skeletal.

"What are you doing here?" Surprisingly, it was Lando who spoke, staring his friend from head to toe, still trying to understand that he really stood in front of him.

"What am I doing here?" Carlos finally reacted, seemed almost offended by that blatantly rhetorical question just asked by Lando in a very serious tone. "I hope you are joking." He followed him with his eyes as he entered the room and headed for the Englishman's phone.

Lando moved his looking at Carlos in disbelief, his eyes and mouth wide open.

"80 unread messages and 120 missed calls and you ask me what am I doing here?" Carlos was getting more serious and almost angry with Lando as he went to check with his own eyes to see how many people had actually looked for the driver in these days.

"Everyone asked me about you. Everyone. Charles, Max, George, Alex, Sebastian, Lewis, Daniel, even Zak. You never even answered your boss. Everyone was asking me as if I were your father or your babysitter, Lando. I had to take a plane to try to have a dialogue with you and not to send you yet another unanswered message. If it wasn't for your parents, I wouldn't have known if you were alive or not, for fuck sake Lando." The last sentence came out of Carlos's mouth with more difficulty, he was choked, he regretted having pronounced it immediately after actually hearing how bad it sounded said aloud.

Lando was impassive, unshakable. Normally all those very strong words would have shaken him a lot, but in that situation in which he had completely canceled himself from the outside world nothing would have marked him. Nothing, except to have his best friend in front of him with eyes moistened with tears, with a two-hour flight behind him only to have a face-to-face confrontation with the Englishman.

"I'm sorry." It was the only excuse that Lando had the strength and the desire to invent, and this did nothing but make the Spaniard even more nervous, already more worried than ever.

"Do you know what day it is today, Lando?" He asked him struggling to stay calm and only after nervously running a hand through his hair and taking a loud sigh.

His Spanish accent, already marked and audible in his own, was now even more evident because of the nervousness that was invading him, and this was not reassuring Lando, on the contrary. Normally that intonation made him laugh, his imperfect and dipped English with a hint of Latin tone made the language spoken by the Englishman even more beautiful, but right now the only thing that he was repeating to himself every time Carlos opened his mouth was _shut up, I don't want to hear you speak my language with that horrible and annoying accent, don't speak._

Instead he just hid all these triggers behind a simple "No." With a tone colder than ice that could have made anyone shiver.

Another loud sigh from the Ferrari driver. "We haven't heard from you for days, you suddenly lost weight, you wear sweatshirts and long-sleeved shirts in May while your room is a fridge, you don't know what day it is and you never even spoke to your mother. Lando, what is happening." As he uttered the last sentence his tone abruptly softened. He was seriously worried about Lando, despite the fact that at that moment he seemed more angry than anything else, and in fact that was exactly what came to the Englishman.

"Nothing serious." Another dry, cold response protected by the zest Lando had put on. As he spoke, he walked briskly to Carlos to pick up the phone, resting on the nightstand right next to him.

"Lando, don't try to tell me bullshit." the Spaniard, however, did not accept much apathy from his friend, he wanted to awaken him, he wanted concrete answers. He got in the middle of his path, placing himself in front of the bedside table and almost grasping Lando's wrist to prevent him from taking his cell phone.

The 21 year-old, in response and in the grip of a very brief adrenaline rush, suddendly withdrew his wrist and stiffened his body by squinting, shrugging his shoulders and putting his clenched fists in front of his face. For a horrible moment, that grasp on his wrist projected that monster that totally destroyed his life days earlier in front of him. Or months. Or years. Lando didn't know, he didn't even realize the time that passed around him. All he knew was that his head made him relive the same scene he experienced that day, with Fernando holding his wrist tight to give him a sick pleasure. He felt the vomit rise again, he was hating his body even more than he could already feel.

Carlos immediately became suspicious. That reaction was too exaggerated and clearly aimed at defending against all kinds of physical contact, which Lando loved and was the first to ask or give when he felt good or in need of affection. He knew his best friend too well, there was something really troubling about him.

"Lando, let me help you. Let it be me, Max, your mother, but please don't destroy yourself internally in your world. What's wrong. Talk to someone." Carlos softened suddenly, immediately felt guilty for having had such a physical reaction towards the young man, he did not deserve it.

The boy, still with his fists raised, did no with his head and trembling began to pant, his eyes were still closed. He didn't want to see the environment around him.

"Come here." Gently, Carlos tried to do the first thing you'd do in these situations: give a hug to his friend. And that's exactly what the driver tried to do, slowly opening his arms.

What he did not expect, however, was that Lando, in the grip of another shock, as soon as he felt the reassuring and strong arms of his friend touch his body, jumped suddenly shouting "NO!" He was paralyzed, he did not move from that position, but that exclamation and that sudden body jump were enough to arouse Carlos' dismay, so much that he raised his arms to immediately cancel any contact with Lando.

The latter, as soon as he felt the bare skin touch his hips, saw again that majestic and corrupted body invading his, englobing it in his sick form. He experienced again the scene in which Fernando held him tight to keep him from running away and rubbed against him to feel his minute body as close as possible to his. Another retch, another horrible shiver of terror.

"Sorry, I didn't want to. Try to calm down, it's me. I could never hurt you, Lando, you know. I'm just as worried about you as we are all. Please try to calm down." Carlos kept talking to try to give Lando something to focus on and not to leave him alone in his head. It only worked after the 21 year-old resumed breathing normally and softened his body, always leaving it rigid, alert and ready for any kind of contact and danger, only after a few minutes.

Lando lowered his fists very carefully from his face, leaving them at the level of his chin and slowly reopening his eyes, staring at Carlos's, as sweet as they represented the only safe place for Lando at that moment.

"Sorry, I didn't want to touch you, I'm sorry." Carlos had not stopped apologizing for a moment, he was trying to make himself as friendly as possible towards his friend now that he had understood that there was more than what he expected behind those days of silence.

Lando looked around. First on the right, then on the left, as if he had to confirm that he was actually in his bedroom in England and not in a Renault motorhome in Catalonia. Only when he was 100% convinced that he was safe he lowered his fists against his chest and looked Carlos in the eyes with a shattered, broken look.

"I- I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made you feel so worried, but you can understand that I can't communicate with someone in these conditions, I would only make others worry more, and I don't want to, I don't want to." The boy's armor was slowly crumbling, he was finally letting go of Carlos's benign soul, despite knowing that in these days he had certainly been in contact with Him, unaware of everything.

"You are making us worry precisely because you don't communicate, Lando. Because we know that there is something that is worrying you for days, and that to make you lose track of time and contact with the outside world, it must be something very serious, something we can't even imagine. We need, I need you to free yourself, that you let off steam with me, I want to know what's going on, I'm seriously afraid for you, Lando." Carlos was also trying to free his soul, in those days he had been really bad because of the thousands of questions about his friend that everyone else asked him, as well as feeling a great anxiety and illness himself due to the unawareness of actually know how he was.

A part of Lando wanted to scream all that that monster had done to him in the smallest details so as to be heard even in Spain or in any fucking place he was continuing to live quietly as if nothing had happened while he was here slowly rotting from the inside to then throwing himself into Carlos's arms, while the dark and now perennially corrupt part of Lando wanted to tell him the worst bad things about it.

Unfortunately it was the second to prevail. By now he had kept everything inside for too long, he was tired of always having to acknowledge others and to say that it was his fault when he had no fucking fault.

"If you really cared, you would have already understood, you damn assholes." Lando slowly backed away and looked Carlos in the eyes with as much contempt as his body was able to generate, so much so that the Spaniard was told _you disgust me_ only with that look he received. "You don't care about me, you are only interested to know when I will race again because otherwise the world championship would be at risk, you have all looked for me only for your personal pleasure and not because you really cared about how I am. You will never understand how I am , you will never experience what I am feeling, none of you monsters will be able to do it. Just ask me a 'how are you' or a 'keep in touch' to be at peace with yourself and then totally forget about me and go back to living as if nothing. Well, I disappeared just because I don't want to have anything to do with you, I hate you. From the first to the last. You are all the same, a bunch of rotten and slimy selfish beings who thinks of nothing but duty and work, that's what you are. And I'm not going to waste a minute of my shitty life spending it with you, I prefer to be alone with the only person who can truly understand how I am: myself. Myself and nobody else, for fuck sake. " Lando's sudden mood swings left Carlos speechless, neither of them knew that the 21 year-old had so much hatred and anger repressed within him, which caused an additional alarm bell to ring in the minds of both.

Lando thought about everything that had come out of his mouth. He knew he was a sweet, loving, pure boy, he himself was aware that there were few like him despite not considering himself anything special. But now, observing Carlos in amazement, both were speechless and both no longer recognized Lando, that boy always sunny and funny. What was he becoming?

Only after this fit of anger did Lando perceive a bitter awareness inside him, which led him to close his eyes and want to collapse on his own legs for the weight that he felt on the spirit: Fernando had won. He had definitely broken and torn apart this poor boy, he had finally have him under his control.

"I-" the tears were coming alive again at the sight of Lando, he began to see blurred. He began to tremble and finally, after days of interminable apathy and depression in which he could not cry even if he had tried hard with himself or if he had caused physical pain, he collapsed on his knees and began to let himself go in a liberating cry and broken.

Carlos took another sigh, this time almost aching and suffocated, as if he had held his breath until then. That was no longer Lando, and Carlos was more terrified than ever.

He managed, however, to remain inexplicably calm and sat cross-legged in front of Lando to tell him _I am here, I will never abandon you, no matter how many insults or how much hate you will throw at me, I do not leave_ , but this time without embracing him or without trying to console him physically.

"I feel so bad Carlos, you have no idea." He managed to communicate to him in tears as he covered his face with his hands hidden in the wide sleeves of the sweatshirt. His voice was agonizing, suffering, he was penetrating the bones of the Spaniard.

"No indeed, I can't even imagine what you're going through, Lando." He replied calmly but with a very evident note of pain, of compassion. He wanted this to end soon, that his dear friend would find peace and tranquility by freeing himself from his demons.

"I would like to tell you what is happening to me, really," the Englishman wiped his nose and tears with long sleeves despite they showed no sign of stopping from his eyes and looked at Carlos. "I would like to scream at you wholeheartedly to make you open your eyes to a lot of things as well as to many other people, but I can't. I can't or I would ruin your life, that of the other drivers and those of a lot of people who put heart and soul for Formula 1, as well as many fans around the world." He was in pain with every word he uttered, sobbed and gasped as if looking for air, that sweatshirt was doing nothing but suffocating him even more.

"Lando, what are you saying..." Carlos was making an enormous effort to try to understand what the boy was referring to, but only formulating some theory and feeling even more hurt to see him so desperate.

Lando couldn't handle it no more. He gathered all the few remaining forces to himself and threw himself into Carlos' arms, embracing his neck and sinking his face into his collarbone. Carlos was stunned for a moment, but was grateful to Lando when he allowed him to reciprocate that embrace as desired as necessary, surrounding his thin body with his powerful arms. He could feel the boy's ribs under his sweatshirt, and this did nothing but make him feel even more sick, he was pervaded by a hollow and a horrible sense of nausea.

"He won, Carlos, he had what he wanted and I can't do anything to destroy him because I'd destroy all of you too. I don't want to have revenge, I don't feel like it, and you know why? Because otherwise I would lower myself to his level, to the level of a monster, and I don't want to. I'm afraid to become like him, I don't want, I don't want..." He whispered to the stiff skin of the driver in a high-pitched, muffled tone as he let go of more tears.

Carlos confirmed one of his theories, the last one he hoped was correct and the most macabre and terrifying one: a driver had abused Lando. He felt an uncontrolled anger and wrath becoming more and more alive in his veins, in his heart, in his muscles. It made him vomit at the mere thought of just having had something to do with a being who had his own profession and who went unnoticed under everyone's eyes every day. He stiffened his body enormously, squeezing Lando further to give him as much protection as possible and to make him understand that from that moment on there would always be for him, he would never have left him alone or abandoned to himself, he would have made him pay to that monster.

"Who did it, Lando." Intimated Carlos, wanting to receive a name and a surname and ready to take a plane anywhere in the world to make any abomination pay for its despicable actions.

"No Carlos, I know what you're thinking, I won't let you do it." Lando broke away from his friend's secure grip, looking at him with extreme fatigue and explicitly asking him to let go of the matter.

"Are you kidding ?! A dirty son of a bitch who drives in Formula 1 like all of us can afford to abuse a 21 year-old boy and claim to go unnoticed as if nothing had happened?! No shit, Lando, he won't. Tell me who is." The anger in Carlos was getting more and more alive and vivid, so much that if Lando had perceived it he would have been scared as never, but Carlos didn't care. Inside him now there was only revenge.

Lando was going crazy. In all these days he had wished with all of himself not to be in Formula 1, not to be a boy who must continually pay attention to what he says in the professional sphere otherwise he would get into trouble, not always be on everyone's mouths and not have a thousand responsibilities and pressures on the shoulders. He would have preferred to be a normal boy like many others and leave his place to someone who deserved it more than him and who would have appreciated him far more than he did at the time, it would have been a thousand times easier for him to speak of what he had gone through, it would have taken absolutely nothing. "Carlos, I'm begging you. Do you know what would happen if everyone learned that a Formula 1 driver did what he did? The sport would fall apart. Thousands of people would lose their jobs, including us." Instead he was forced to remain silent because if even one person besides that monster had lost his job because of his revelations he would never have forgiven himself, he would have had it on his conscience forever.

"Fuck the job!" Carlos thundered screaming at his friend, causing him a dismay. He did not expect such a direct and drastic reaction. "A sport with hundreds of years of history behind it will not collapse for an asshole who has made one of the most despicable gestures that exist. At least he will get what he deserves and people will appreciate your courage and boldness in revealing something like that to the whole world." His gaze was penetrating, furious, he wanted to break everything.

Lando would have wished with all of himself that Alonso was a nobody, who was not one of the most loved and venerated drivers in the history of the sport, despite knowing that it was a horrible thought to do. He would have liked with all of his body and soul that it was not someone who has given thousands of emotions to fans of all ages, he would have liked him to be an anonymous driver that no one would remember and that therefore nobody would care if he ended up under a bridge, another of the things that kept him from talking. "Nobody will believe me."

"I hope you're joking!" Carlos interrupted him suddenly, raising his voice again, making Lando jump again.

The Spaniard jumped to his feet looking at the 21 year-old from above. "Who the fuck shouldn't believe you, huh?! The first random asshole who will say 'is he assuming this because he feels overwhelmed?!', who fucking cares! Because the commissioners and federators who monitor the sport, they'll believe you in everything, they don't have no reason to tell you that you're lying!" He hadn't stopped screaming for a moment, his face was turning red and the veins on his neck were protruding.

"Carlos, please. If I tell you who did it, will you promise me that you will do nothing and say nothing to anyone?" He got up slowly with his hands forward, not even looking away from the Spaniard for a moment.

"Lando, what the fuck are you saying?! I hope you're joki-"

"Carlos." He cut him off sharply. His gaze became hard and very serious suddenly. "It is something that I am asking you, since it concerns me personally, and I want you to respect my choice. I don't want to lower myself to his level, much less I want you to lower yourself. Understand it?" His eyes were still wet and shiny with tears, but his expression was imbued with determination and sudden power to prevail over Carlos with the sole purpose of protecting him and preserving his goodness.

"But... Lando-"

"No Lando." Another, painful interruption. "I expect that once you leave here, you will not go to the commissioners or who the fuck you wanto to go to reveal everything, because it would be a betrayal of my trust and our relationship, and you know it too. Promise me." Lando's sudden seriousness and stiffness were suddenly shrinking Carlos, he had never seen him so cold and threatening, he seemed like he had been able to find out how to suddenly neutralize fear.

The Spaniard swallowed frantically moving his tongue in his mouth and looking away from Lando. His liver was turning over on itself, he was disappointed by Lando, but he was right: he could not betray his trust. "I promise." He said through gritted teeth and with difficulty returning to look at his friend, who took a sigh of relief and suddenly softened his eyes and body.

At this point Lando knew he could relax himself. Carlos was a man of his word, he would never do or say anything that would contradict his words, especially if it was a promise made to his best friend.

"Thanks Carlos, really. For everything." Now he looked at him with empathy, he was again invaded by fatigue, but he was eternally grateful to any divinity for having given him such an understanding and loving friend as Carlos.

Of one thing, however, he was still worried: he didn't know how he would react to the fact that whoever assaulted him was one of his greatest friends, one of the drivers he had known for the longest time. He could have screamed and done everything to convince Lando to speak, making the whole situation doubly more difficult, or he would have kept a calm attitude in front of Lando and then let off steam once he got home, breaking the first thing that would have happened to him.

"Get it over with. It's the least I can do, and you know it." He almost scolded him, still struggling to swallow the toad that forced him not to open his mouth.

"As for... him. He's- he's-" he took a big sigh, held his breath and... "It was Alonso." His heart pumped wildly, he felt it in his throat.

Carlos remained frighteningly motionless. It was possible to observe by eye the change that took place in his body: from soft and relaxed to rigid and marble. He was clenching his fists, so much that his knuckles were turning white. He pushed his tongue against the inside of his upper lip and let out a smile as he looked away from Lando and shook his head.

The Englishman could not decipher that expression. He was invaded by the horrible presentiment that Carlos was not believing him while, on the contrary, the only words that wandered in the 26 year-old head were _I'll kill him, he will no longer see the light of the sun, I am disgusted, I'm gonna throw up, he must die._

Lando finally understood his friend's actual reaction when he noticed a gruesome and macabre change in his gaze that made him shiver: in Carlos's eyes there was pure murder, there was a desire to kill. Of revenge.

"Carlos no, no. I don't like that look at all." Lando came up suddenly and took the Spaniard's face, forcing him to look him straight in the eyes. His were active, lively, almost like those of a child, except that they did not present light.

"I'll kill him." A small sadistic laugh escaped Carlos. He stepped back to break physical contact with Lando and shook his head slightly.

"Carlos, no. Please. I shouldn't even have told you, this won't make any difference. Please." Lando was not going to abandon his skin: he took his hands and completely surrounded them, and then brought them up to his chin.

"Lando, I'll kill him." Carlos, in those conditions, was reminding of Him more and more: Loss of lucidity, sadistic laughter, that look that seemed to belong more to an animal than to a man.

Lando was afraid, he was seeing Alonso appear more and more alive before his eyes, but he did not intend to cancel physical contact with Carlos. His skin was soft and warm, unlike that of that monster, and it was the only thing that reminded him that in front of him, at that moment, was his best friend. "Carlos, listen to me! What did I tell you?! I don't want you to lower yourself to his level, by doing this you will go to the wrong side, and you don't deserve it. You least of all. I don't want that for a raptus and for a loss of lucidity you get into trouble and make him win you too, do you understand?! " Lando took his friend's face again and yelled at him with a strength he didn't even know he had, he felt his throat burn and his vocal cords vibrate like never before.

That voice and that desperate look literally penetrated into Carlos' soul, bringing him back to Earth and giving him again the lucidity and the reason he was about to lose. Lando was crying because of too much fatigue and physical pain that was required to scream with so much wrath with a body that would not allow it, not in those conditions. He had definitively used all his remaining energies to help Carlos fight his instinct to completely cancel his conscience and his reason, and he could see with his own eyes that he succeeded, because even Carlos let himself go to a liberating cry destroying his armor and hugging Lando in a close that he had never addressed to anyone. the latter let himself go to the body of the Spaniard who in response squeezed him even more and continued to cry on the boy's collarbone.

"You don't deserve all this Lando, you don't deserve it. You are a warrior, you are a fucking warrior. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Carlos felt Lando collapse on his own legs, then gently accompanied him to the ground always holding him close and kneeling.

Lando lay down on the Spaniard's legs with his gaze towards the ceiling. He could barely keep his eyes open, he didn't even have the strength to cry anymore, he was totally worn out. Carlos was holding his face and stroking it with as much delicacy as possible. "Thanks... to you Carlos, for existing." He said with difficulty and in distress, extending an arm to caress the wet cheek of his savior, even managing to smile. "A few more days and I would probably have ended it, you saved me." By now he was talking without filters, he didn't even have the energy to filter what he was saying.

Carlos wept with possibly more intensity and leaned forward, bringing the foreheads and the noses of the two to touch. The tears that fell from the Spaniard's face broke on the cheeks of the 21 year-old and were then dried by the tired hands of the 26 year-old.

"Come on, don't do this. It's all over, I'll recover in time, now that I know you're here I feel more relaxed, now I'm absolutely sure I'll make it, you know?" He too took Carlos's face, his hands were decidedly smaller and insecure, but that velvety and innocent touch did nothing but unleash something uncontrollable in Carlos. he broke physical contact and looked at Lando from a little further away. It was no longer the little Lando he met three years earlier in the playful and serene McLaren team, they were no longer the young boys who were always laughing and joking, even during the races. They were broken, corrupted, one for a reason and the other one for another, but now they were there together trying to rebuild each other despite the fact that their relationship had inevitably changed. Lando, now that he had freed himself of this burden, felt that he could go racing again and that in time his wound would heal despite the scar remaining forever, while Carlos could only be prouder than the man that Lando was become, no one else would have been to endure such a situation so well, nobody. Just as nobody ever deserved to suffer such a thing, but he knew that Lando would find the desire and will to continue living, because he needed it and he was too young to stop dreaming big, especially one with a big future and as bright as his. In the days that followed, he would even find the strength to face his monsters face-to-face without fear, he didn't feel it any more, not now that Carlos was there to protect him and make him feel safe in the world that at that moment was none other than their. Their and no one else.


	3. Resist and Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would never have thought and especially hoped to say it, but the worst was yet to come for him. Yet, as usual, he cared more for his dear friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of my work! It took a while, but I'm kinda proud about it, I never expected to receive so much support and feedback, just as I never thought I would carry it forward so much, but I'm glad I did because I am really enjoying writing this story and that you are enjoying it too, I hope :'D enjoy the reading!

**_ Friday, 21:30PM _ **

"So... Max is there, Charles is there, George is there." The young Englishman was looking at the details of his online group to make sure they were all there.

"Can you hear me guys?" He brought the microphone of the headphones closer to his mouth to receive confirmation from his companions.

"AH don't shout!" Max exclaimed through his microphone, George had placed his too close to his mouth and therefore his voice was higher than normal, almost deafening.

"Oops." George began with a small laugh, slightly pushing away his microphone, while on the other side Charles was laughing pleased.

"What are you laughing about!" Max was also involved in the laughter of the two, and was anything but threatening towards the Monegasque.

"Come on guys, let's start the game, join." George leaned forward and held the joypad in his hands as he looked at his computer screen, which was currently projecting FIFA.

Within moments, the other two drivers joined George's server.

"I'm on the team with George." Max did not take long to book his place on the same team as the Englishman, also positioning him in the game.

"Hey, but!" Charles let out his Italian side and gesticulating reached out to the television as a sign of dissent, although the others could not see it.

"What, aren't you happy? You hate being on a team with someone." Max asked innocently as he couldn't help but laugh with amusement.

"Well, that's right, but-"

"Oh, are you afraid that two of us will make it easier for us to beat you?" George interrupted him by talking over him due to the short delay between calls, pinching Charles.

"Of course not!" Charles smiled too and tried to restrain himself from laughing at provocation.

"So don't complain, just play." The Englishman continued exclaiming and with the joypad confirmed the teams, and consequently the game took them to the next screen.

Between chatter, jokes, laughter and various strategies, the three had prepared their teams and were ready to enter the game.

Just as Max gave the okay and the game officially started the match, a female and robotic voice invaded George's headphones, overlapping those of the two drivers.

**«a user joined the channel.»**

George shifted his attention from FIFA to the program that was holding the three on call, his gaze instantly turning to a confused expression.

"guys guys guys, stop talking." Max and Charles had not stopped talking for a moment, so the Englishman had to make them stop to try to understand what was going on.

The two, in fact, stopped talking only after having asked to George what was going on, but the answer was not long in coming.

"Can I?" A voice. Unmistakable.

The three burst into screams that were anything but contained as they recognized who he was. Their voices overlapped, making their words practically unintelligible, but a name was what all three said, almost in unison: "LANDO!"

The 21-year-old put his hands over his mouth and couldn't help but start laughing. Those chaotic reactions were almost making him deaf.

"Slowly, one at a time!" He tried to calm the situation in the throes of a restrained and quiet laugh, the first he managed to get out in days, thanks to his companions. To his friends.

"Where have you been?! We have sent you thousands of messages!" Charles was the first to prevail over the others. He was happy, but there was also a note of apprehension in his voice.

"Nothing serious happened, don't worry. I'm fine now." He tried to be as credible as possible, but his colleagues didn't believe it.

"Nothing serious?! We were all very worried about you, we called you and wrote you I don't know how many times without ever receiving an answer!" Max, on the other hand, was more smitten than anything else with his friend.

"I know! I know... I was feeling a bit sick and I didn't really want to talk to anyone, but I was wrong to disappear, I know. Sorry, now I'm here, I'm not dead." Lando still managed to find the strength and the way to smile and joke, with his closest friends it was much easier, knowing that he could always count on them and their support.

"You scared us... but are you okay now? What did it happen?" George was equally worried, but he managed to hide it better than the other two so as not to stress his friend too much.

"Yes, I'm fine... I'll explain everything, I promise." He hesitated. His gaze moved almost unconsciously to his wrists, covered by the long sleeves of the sweatshirt.

There was a moment of silence, then another voice invaded Lando's microphone. "Helo." He interjected softly and with a very evident Spanish accent.

"Carlos?!" Max was the first to recognize him. The three let themselves go to confused and perplexed looks.

Lando looked at the Spaniard with almost dreamy eyes and half-open mouth, and his friend consequently winked at him. The Englishman immediately understood that he intervened in the call because the 21-year-old was unable to find a quick excuse that was neither too serious nor too futile to justify his absence.

Lando therefore gave him a little but warm smile. "Yes, Carlos wanted to come here to keep me company because my parents will not be at home for a few days and he felt sick at the thought that I could be alone." He refocused his attention on the PC screen, while Carlos returned his smile even though he was no longer looking at him.

"Aw, that's cute." George softened his tone because of Spaniard's kindness.

"Well? Shall we play or not?!" Lando cut it short, trying to avoid other questions from his companions that might have worried them even more.

"Lando Norris is back, baby!" Max gave him slack, he was genuinely happy and he felt like he was being freed from a burden.

"I'm on the team with Max and George." he continued, suddenly becoming serious and competitive.

"But!" Charles was even more perplexed and stunned, but he laughed.

"What? You hate being on a team with someone." Lando explained innocently, earning a loud laugh from George and Max.

"All right. I'll show you that it's better alone than badly accompanied." Charles also got into the competitive spirit, leaning forward in his chair.

"Bring it on." Lando concluded.

⁂

After several hours in which the four did nothing but laugh, joke and cheer for the matches, it was time for everyone to disconnect, as it was getting late.

Lando greeted his friends who threatened to be seen more often and practically warned him that in the following days they would have surely gone out together, and the Englishman could not help but accept with a smile.

As soon as the drivers finally broke away from the call, Lando stretched in his chair and took off his headphones, getting up and going to get his pajamas, and then heading to the bathroom.

"Lando." Carlos, who had remained in the room with his friend fiddling with his cell phone, occasionally glanced at the Englishman and sometimes laughed at his jokes. But now that he was off the call with his colleagues, he only needed to speak directly with Lando.

"Hm?" Lando interrupted his walk to the bathroom and turned to Carlos, who slowly and wearily got out of bed, standing in front of the boy.

"Don't you think it's time to stop wearing baggy clothes?" Carlos asked quietly and lazy, he seemed almost annoyed to get the words out of his mouth.

Lando frowned and tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... Your friends will want to see you again sooner or later, and going out in this hot clothes like this would just be more painful for you, don't you think? Also, in a week's time you will have to put on the racing suit again, and the people in box will notice that you have lost too much weight, Lando. They would get suspicious, and that's not the case. " Carlos's tone became more and more apprehensive and his eyes more and more aching for his friend.

"I-I wear sweatshirts to hide the marks on my body-"

"But now the marks are gone, Lando." Carlos interrupted him by taking his hands, as he noticed that the 21-year-old's gaze was becoming more and more hesitant and sad. "I understand that it is painful for you to see your body, that you don't like yourself. But you have to do it for yourself, to help you, do you understand me?" He was gently stroking the small hands of the young man, at that moment they seemed almost like those of a child.

Lando swallowed as he felt a knot forming in his throat and his eyes getting more and more moist. She looked at Carlos' hands that were holding his with as much confidence as protection and empathy, and he couldn't get over what he had done so beautiful to deserve someone as special as Carlos by his side, so he felt like he had to let himself help, for Carlos. He looked up and looked him straight in the eye, then nodded quietly shortly after.

The Spaniard also felt his eyes get wet and his heart suddenly in his throat. He slowly opened his arms as he wanted to hug his best friend and tell him how proud he was of him, but waited for his approval.

Lando waited a few seconds, then threw himself into Carlos' arms like a child throws himself into his father's arms, and hugged him as much as possible to feel him as close as possible.

"You are a lion Lando, a lion. Thank you for having allowed me to help you." Carlos infinitely thanked his dearest friend, very few would have let themselves be helped in such a situation, a sign that the two had an even deeper and more important relationship than people thought.

Lando broke away only after letting go of a few silent but heavy tears. He rubbed his eyes and picked up other clothes to use as pajamas: light, summery, then took a breath and headed for the bathroom under Carlos' apprehensive gaze.

The latter waited for the return of the boy sitting at the edge of the bed bent forward and biting his nails, staring at the floor.

The 21-year-old put the clothes aside and stared at the mirror. He had never looked at his naked body as he changed, he had always done so blindly. He tried to do it as little as possible even when taking a shower. So he took another, big sigh and pulled off his sweatshirt in one fell swoop, seeing in detail his naked torso for the first time in days: he was clearly thinner, his ribs were more visible and the flesh on his hips had diminished, it was wasted. He looked up, his breathing was quickening and his gaze was growing more and more disgusted. Slowly and trembling he raised his hands to chest height, observing his wrists: the marks on them were totally gone, there were only the slightest traces of slightly more amber skin, a sign that the bruises had healed. Swallowing and turning his wrists to observe each part of them, he took a breath and with extreme delicacy grabbed one, just placing his fingers on it.

A very rapid shiver, almost a jolt, ran down his back and he had another, horrifying, very brief flashback. He jerked his left hand away from his right wrist as he felt it sore during that flash and shook his head breathing harder and shaking harder. He shook his head again with more energy and hurried to put on his shirt trying to forget any sensation of that memory. Same thing he did for the shorts, quickly and without thinking too much. He hurriedly grabbed his former clothes and hurried out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He was pale.

Carlos jumped up and looked him up and down, now it was even more evident for him to notice, without even being able to see his torso, that Lando had actually lost weight, and not a little. "Is everything okay?" He noticed the change in his complexion and gaze.

"I don't know if I'm capable of doing this." Lando already seemed demoralized, already unsure of making it back to an acceptable physical condition, much less psychological.

"Oh no no Lando, you can. Together we can. With my help and that of your friends, you'll see that you'll get better, look how it went tonight... you seemed almost serene and happy." He took a quick step towards his friend and put his hands on his chest as if to swear and promise that he would never let him go through this alone.

"It's just that- I will have to go back to racing. And I- I don't know if I feel like it, I'm out of it and it would be a big problem, I don't want to endanger the lives of others and mine because of my inattention- "

"You'll be racing again when you feel like it, Lando." He put a hand forward to stop him at the start and to try to dismantle the new insecurities in his soul, more than he already had. "Let's think about one thing at a time, don't you think?"

Lando was not at all convinced. The time to get back to racing would come sooner or later, but right now he was more scared than happy, and this can't happen in a driver's head. But he still decided to solve another of his problems first: his weight. Then he would think about the rest.

⁂

Exactly a week later, in fact, that moment arrived: Lando put all of himself to try to heal, in part, from his ailments. Some days he even managed to meet Max, Charles and George. Getting out of his room after all that time was anything but pleasant for him, who certainly hadn't lost his apathetic and perpetually tired spirit, physically and psychologically. The three never asked him about the question that troubled him although they wanted to do it with all their heart since it was visible to the eye that Lando had lost the light in his eyes, but they did not do it out of respect for his friend, he would tell them everything of his own free will.

The Englishman had also managed to regain the weight he lost thanks to Carlos' insistence that his friend have at least three meals a day, albeit in small quantities. Although he still struggled to see himself without clothes, Lando was learning to accept his body again, much more in shape than just over a week ago, and despite physically no longer showing marks and bruises, mentally his wounds were still open, and they would have remained for who knows how long.

The two had headed to the circuit together, side by side. Carlos intended to spend as much time as possible with his friend to try to make him re-settle in that atmosphere as best he could, since the trauma he had suffered in an environment familiar to that in which they were. As it was the turn of the Monaco Grand Prix, the photographers here were more active and attentive than ever in capturing the various celebrities in all their extravagant and unique outfits, as well as they were well prepared to capture the drivers in all places and with every possible pose. The first photos of Lando began to go into circulation almost immediately, even of fans who caught him by chance, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when they had confirmation that the driver was actually fine, at least apparently. The boy had abandoned every social network in these two weeks, he was not one who was always on the phone, but he still felt obliged to detoxify to dedicate himself only to himself for one of the first times.

"Are you nervous?" Carlos asked him at his side, while the two were on the truck for the classic parade of any grand prix. The two were at the far corner, so they had a view of all the other driver.

"Let's just say I've never been comfortable with too many people in the same place." Lando managed to flaunt a shy smile as he looked at his colleagues, especially his peers.

Carlos looked at him for a few seconds in silence with an almost brotherly gaze. "You have been very good these two weeks, Lando." He was dreamy, absent, almost in love as if he were looking at an idol.

"Oh yeah? I don't know where I would be if it wasn't for you." First he looked down smiling, then raised his head and returned the Spaniard's gaze.

"No but, really. You let yourself be helped, only for that it was much easier for me. I didn't do anything, I just guided you, you did the bulk of the work. And how well you did it... " As soon as he saw that Lando was looking at him, his gaze became more intense, more sincere, it seemed as if he were opening his soul to the little one.

"I would like to find a way to be happy." The Englishman let go of a half smile and looked thoughtfully at the horizon.

That sentence, pronounced with as much spontaneity as surrender, squeezed Carlos's heart, changing his gaze as well. He wanted to hug Lando, he wanted to tell him how much he really deserved the most beautiful there was in this world and that he deserved to always be happy and with his naive smile that he seemed to have totally lost, but instead he remained there, looking down.

Lando suddenly felt a gentle tap on his shoulder to be called. Initially he jumped, he still hadn't gotten used to physical contact again and would probably still bother him for a long time, even though over time he was starting to control his annoyance, then he turned to see who he was, also gaining Carlos' attention, who raised his head.

"Oh, Alex! Hi, we haven't seen each other for a while!" Lando gave him the most spontaneous and full smile he could show off.

"Exactly, how are you? Good?" Alex held out his hand to be shaken in a typically masculine greeting. "Max, George and Charles told me about you, honestly I was a little worried too." He smiled content.

Lando hesitated looking at the Thai's hand. He was not comfortable touching other hands, but with a little effort he decided to return Alex's greeting so as not to leave him perplexed, breaking away as soon as possible. "Eh... yes, I'm sorry. But now I'm here." He shrugged and smiled again, always and only with his mouth and not with his eyes.

"Fortunately. Then I leave you, may the best one win, eh!" Alex started to go back to the other peers pointing at Lando and continuing to look at him all along his path with a breezy smile.

Lando returned with a simple thumbs up and a complicit look.

The two continued to observe their colleagues, until what he feared happened to Lando: Daniel walked to the other end of the truck to go to Pierre and Antonio, followed by Fernando. The Englishman unconsciously laid his eyes on him.

Lando didn't even have time to look away that the Spaniard returned his. It appeared that he knew where the Englishman was since he stepped into the vehicle, and that he had been monitoring his few movements since. Lando froze on the spot, as did the time around him: it seemed that those eyes staring at his person had been doing it for hours, but it was a matter of seconds, enough for Lando to fully receive the 39-year-old's expression: Fernando had a half grin on his face, while his eyes were devious, piercing.

As soon as the latter diverted attention from his prey he focused again on Pierre and Antonio, reaching Daniel.

Lando began to hyperventilate and to try not to be noticed he whirled around to look again at the horizon, those people he had in his field of vision had suddenly become oppressive and too many, so he tried to find some comfort in the water that aimed calm and supported the countless yachts of Monte Carlo.

"Are you OK?" Carlos noticed Lando's attitude and his look that was suddenly as if alarmed. He understood immediately.

"No." The Englishman was frantically moving his right leg making it touch the panel of the truck, he seemed to be in the grip of a tic. That simple word spoken with so much panic sparked a sudden anger in the Spanish.

"Quiet Lando, you're doing great." Carlos didn't really know what to do except trying to reassure his friend by talking to him.

"Please, if he ever calls you or wants to talk to you, act as if nothing has happened." Lando looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his eyes transmitted agitation, but much more controlled than days before, the young man was learning to manage his emotions when they became too overwhelming.

Carlos immediately noticed that change and almost went through an adrenaline rush, Lando's psychological strength was amazing him more and more. "Can you explain to me how I do it, Lando? I can't even look at him that I want to get my hands on him!" He lowered his voice so as not to be heard by any other driver nearby, but his tone was still furious.

"Please Carlos, I don't want him to get suspicious. If he finds out I've talked of it to someone I'm done." He changed his expression, looking totally at Carlos: he was afraid, he was practically praying his friend.

The latter knew it, and he also knew that no matter how difficult it was he had to do it, it was the minimum to support his friend, otherwise it would really have been the end for Lando, and he didn't even want to imagine it.

"I still don't understand what the fuck he's still doing among all of us, _ese hijo de puta._ " He said after another time in which he didn't explicitly answer Lando, but his frustration was growing, and that wasn't helping the Englishman.

"Carlos, please. This is by no means an easy situation, so don't make it worse, please." He continued to look at the Spaniard with anguish and fear, he had no intention of either turning to have all those people in his field of vision or taking his eyes off Carlos', they were the only thing that gave him comfort.

The latter bit the inside of his cheeks and looked away briefly with a look that made it clear that he was against it all, but eventually gave up, just because it was Lando. "All right, you're right. Excuse me." He looked back at him, there was always something uncertain and dull in his eyes, but he wanted to give himself strength and confidence.

⁂

It was time for the pre-race conference. Lando was one of the drivers summoned so he decided, with a strange foreboding, to take a look at the colleagues who would have joined him. His eyes moved slowly and studied every letter of the other drivers' names. He was helping himself with a finger that gently stroked the paper.

The first name. Max Verstappen.

He advanced.

The second name. Sebastian Vettel.

His eyes advanced slowly, accompanied by his finger leafing through the paper. His heartbeat was increasing as his gaze took in the remaining two names besides his own.

The third name. Valtteri Bottas.

Then he glanced at his. He took a deep breath and read the last.

His sigh was not carried out, it got stuck in his throat as he read the first letter of the last name.

However, he made an effort to read it all to make sure he was not hallucinating it.

It was really written on it.

Fernando Alonso.

Lando began to see black. He felt dizzy, he felt like fainting. He had to reread it again, hoping it was just his brain playing a bad trick on him.

It wasn't.

He began to gasp in search of air, he had been suddenly thrown under water without any possibility of going back to the surface, with walls at his side that tightened more and more until they oppressed him and took away what little remaining air.

With blurred vision and a head that did not want to receive oxygen, the Englishman tried to reach the bathroom of the briefing room, trying to avoid as many people as possible. The few faces he met on his way before reaching his destination with great difficulty were blurred and confused shapes, probably more of the surrounding environment, and they looked him straight in the eye, even saying a few words incomprehensible to the boy, who had to resort to pushes to free oneself the way.

Feeling his lungs on fire and his head blackout he finally reached the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and holding a hand on his chest, hoping not to feel his heart stop beating in his limb. In a single and very rapid moment of clarity, probably the last effort his subconscious was making, he picked up the phone, calling the first person that came to his mind: Carlos.

Unfortunately it was not enough, because in the lapse of time in which Lando turned on the phone and opened the address book, his body no longer answered. The cell phone fell out of his hands and his vision diminished radically. He got on all fours trying to move his chest as much as possible to try to get air, feeling a stabbing pain. He had neither the strength to scream, much less to do anything other than hope to pass out and who knows if wake up.

His plan changed dramatically moments after someone entered the bathroom. He didn't recognize him, it could be anyone, his head wasn't responding anymore.

"LANDO!" was what the mysterious person exclaimed as soon as he noticed that the driver was in the midst of a very heavy panic attack.

He knelt in front of the Englishman and took his face with force, forcing him to look at him.

It was then that Lando, with great difficulty, understood who he was. It was Max.

"Lando listen to me, I want you to look at me and concentrate on your breathing, only and only on your breath, I don't want you to think about anything else. Nothing. You can do it, breathe." He almost chanted to make sure that at least one of the times Lando was able to pick up at least one of his signals. The Englishman was enchanted in the Dutchman's eyes, while the latter stroked his cheeks to try to give him physical support.

The McLaren driver still had a hand on his chest, was drastically bent forward and could only breathe with his mouth in abnormal, choked breaths.

"Do you want me to hug you? Do you think I can help you?" Max continued to stimulate Lando by talking and gesticulating to him.

The latter, in a particularly long and fatigued breath as if he were in apnea, managed to nod a slight 'no' with his head, then assuming a painful expression due to the lungs that were burning.

"Okay okay then think about the breath, do like me. Inhale, exhale." Max tried to guide his friend by inflating his lungs and then emptying them in very relaxed exhales from his mouth.

Lando tried to reproduce those exact movements at the same rhythm as Max. He used the last strength left to try to concentrate as much as possible to relax his body, and in several minutes he managed to regulate his breathing.

His exhausted body began to receive oxygen again as did his head, which could finally give him clear and sharp vision again, as well as slowing his heart rate just right. Lando felt almost in a new body, a healed body, instead it was simply and always him, it made him strange to feel good and without any illness, it seemed that this had not happened to him for years.

Max let out a small smile and sighed to reassure himself, he too was agitated. He was still holding Lando's face in his hands and stroking his cheeks. The latter took a while to reach a respiratory rate such that it was no longer audible by ear, and he spent that time not taking his eyes off Max's for a moment, their noses almost brushed, that little physical contact gave additional energy to the Englishman.

"Max..." It was the only thing he managed to whisper as he smiled at his friend who clearly said 'thank you.'

"Lando, what happened? Since when you from panic attacks?" His gaze became sad and compassionate, he felt a lot of pity for the twenty-one year old.

"I don't." The latter broke physical contact with the Red Bull driver and lowered his head, his back sharply arched forward in laziness and fatigue.

"So what happened? Lando, you are going through something very serious and you don't want to tell us what, you can't race in these conditions." But he didn't stop looking at his friend, he wanted explanations.

"Yes I can, it was just a bad moment..." He made no sign of raising his head and rubbed his arm.

"Don't talk bullshit, Lando. It's since we dated the others that you had something weird, and disappearing like that for two weeks without answering any calls or messages is anything but a bad moment." His tone hardened, but he still didn't get eye contact from the Englishman.

Lando sighed. "I didn't tell you anything because otherwise you would get involved too, and I'm not going to get into trouble." Finally he met Max's gaze, his eyes sparkled, he was alert and thoughtful.

"It doesn't matter Lando, tell me-"

"Yes it does matter Max, fuck if it does. I might as well tell you, but then? What would you do once you know? You would just be even more worried about me and that's the last thing I want, I want you at least to be calm." Lando cut him off sharply, raising his voice slightly and widening his shoulders.

"Do you think we are not worried Lando? Do you think we are racing quietly or that we have been fine these days without you and without news from you? You are different Lando, you are not well, and it's clear. Now I go to the bathroom and I find you on the ground in the middle of a panic attack, you can't go on like this just to do people a favor or not to worry anyone, because you won't get either of them." On the contrary, Max's tone had dropped: his expression was sad and empathetic.

"Unfortunately I will only heal with time Max, and since it will take a long time, I can't spend all this time without doing what I like best, which is to be in your company and race, despite not being at my peak performance." He stood erect, his back began to support him again and his gaze, despite being tired, conveyed a certain determination.

"I think you care too much about others and too little about yourself, Lando." Max heaved a sigh in surrender, even his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Yes, so what? I stopped thinking about myself when I came to the conclusion that there is nothing I can do to heal faster than by distracting myself with you, which is why I think of you. You are the only ones who can make me smile and support myself always and in any case even in the conditions in which I am, and this is enough for me, really. " The Englishman hinted at a smile to try to reassure Max and tell him that as long as they are there everything would be okay.

The latter sighed again, for a moment distracting eye contact with Lando. "Just... if you feel you can't run anymore because your head is too high in the clouds or you feel distracted, please stop doing it." He looked back at him, biting the inside of his cheeks.

"Are you kidding? With the visor down there is nothing and nobody for me anymore, you should know it, Verstappen!" Lando was almost offended by this supposition, but took it to laughter by giving a light punch on the Dutchman's arm.

Max laughed letting himself be carried away by Lando's content smile, which disappeared shortly after. The Red Bull driver looked at him for a few seconds in silence, then put a hand on Lando's collarbone and lightly squeezed his skin smiling at him, he was proud of his friend.

Lando, however, on the contrary, as soon as he felt the physical contact on his skin, he almost rebelled against that grip, jolting and opening his eyes. He was not yet used to receiving physical contact again, especially in the same parts where He had touched him, they brought back bad flashbacks to his mind.

Max immediately withdrew his hand and looked at Lando in a mixture of confusion and suspicion. He knew that the Englishman was the first to love and ask for physical contact, and he would have no reason to refuse it from Max himself. Several questions were forming in the Dutchman's mind as he observed the details of Lando's face, he had clearly assumed a expression of guilt and knew he had made his friend suspicious.

"I have to go." He didn't even give the 23-year-old time to argue that he was already running out of the bathroom.

Max sat on the bathroom floor for several minutes staring into space in front of him and trying to connect what had just happened to Lando's psychophysical condition, he was starting to understand something.

⁂

Several hours later it was time for the pre-race conference, and the called-up drivers went into the hall and soon sat down in their assigned seats. There were already dozens of reporters and photographers waiting for nothing but the five men.

They all exchanged greetings before sitting down, except Fernando and Lando. The latter was starting to feel a sickness again, a fetid and sick sensation all over his body after he sat down next to the Spaniard. All those people in front of him and those countless camera shots causing flashes weren't helping him at all, he had to summon all his calm and tranquility to try to keep a neutral expression and attitude, it helped a lot that here Fernando couldn't do anything to him, this time it wasn't just the two of them.

"Welcome gents, as soon as you are ready you can start with the questions." It was the conference director who spoke from the back of the room with a microphone to be heard by all present.

Several people raised their hands to be noticed but only one of them spoke, saying his name, his surname and the newspaper he worked for. Nothing that interested the drivers.

"I have a question for Lando. The world of sport in these two weeks has been worried for you. There was no news from you either on social media, a world in which you are almost always very active, or in the newspapers because no one has seen you around. Was it a break or is there something else behind this silence?" The man looked Lando straight in the eye and held a microphone in his hand.

"Were you worried because the paparazzi couldn't catch me on my way to the supermarket or because you didn't have any news to write on the last Instagram story I posted?" His tone was neutral, as was his expression. It was impossible to tell if he talked like this to mimic journalists obsessed with the private lives of the drivers or if he had said it in an innocent tone, without ulterior motives.

But all this was enough to provoke some low laughter in the room and also some hidden smiles from Valtteri and Sebastian.

Max was serious and focused, the Lando he knew would never have answered such a question like that, he was heated, too brazen. Lando was not like that.

Fernando kept his back leaning against the back of his chair, his arms crossed, and he looked at Lando with a half smile on his face.

The latter could feel his gaze on him, his breath was getting short and his saliva was drying, yet he continued to stare the reporter straight in the eye with a sly and reproachful expression.

The reporter felt cornered, he didn't know what to answer anymore, so he cut it short with a simple "Thanks Lando." There was no point in answering that question, not after the Englishman silenced him on such a stupid and above all personal issue.

The next question was not long in coming from the other side of the room, so the drivers' eyes moved at the same time to the journalist.

"Question for Fernando and Lando. After the unfortunate accident you had in Spain, do you think that your relationship and your rivalry could be compromised or is everything okay between you?" She was far from the two drivers concerned, but she could see drastically different looks between the two.

Valtteri, Sebastian and Max looked at the two out of the corner of their eyes, interested in hearing their words about it.

Lando was paralyzed. His eyes were wide open and he hadn't moved from his previous position: leaning forward with his hands crossed on the table and his gaze fixed on the reporter.

Fernando, on the other hand, leaned forward too slightly more relaxed and a half smile formed on his face as he looked at Lando out of the corner of his eye.

The British driver felt him even closer and on him, he felt short of breath. The flashes and clicks of the cameras were getting louder and more blinding, he couldn't move from that position. The only thing that helped him to keep that little calm left was to turn his head to his right and look at the table, in his field of vision now there were only the other three drivers, he was tolerating less and less all those looks on him.

"Fernando, you first." The conference director gave the okay to the Spaniard to answer the question.

"Well I think accidents like that happen to anyone and there is no need to make a big deal out of it. Obviously it was my home grand prix and Lando on his side was fighting for a podium, so obviously we both wanted to do good for us, for the teams and for the sport, but it didn't have to go that way. " Fernando let out a broader smile and turned his head towards Lando, who however did not return his eye contact and simply smiled forcefully so as not to be rude.

An increase in photographs taken by large cameras could be heard, journalists were thirsty for such interactions between drivers.

"We discussed after the race and we both agreed it was a race accident, so there's no need to emphasize it, as you always do. It's okay between me and Lando." Impudence. Falsehood. Handling. These were the qualities that distinguished Fernando among all the other drivers, above all because he was able to both show and hide them without anyone noticing. His eyes observed every single element of the room and the different reactions of each one: who looked down because knew it was true, who instead turned a dirty look at Fernando, whose contempt he felt for these people was evident.

"Lando, do you have anything to add?" The manager stirred Lando, asking his opinion on the matter.

"The same things he said." He almost felt his vomit rise at the very thought of having agreed to an avalanche of false and self-righteous words uttered by a man who called him disgusting was little. But Lando didn't care, he didn't intend to give his opinion about it, both because he felt too bad and his lucidity was leaving him, and because he wanted to scream in front of everyone what kind of monster Fernando was, so he preferred to cut it short and leave it there.

Fernando gave him a smile that everyone saw as paternal and proud, but if Lando had seen it, he would surely have had a billion ulterior motives.

Suddenly, when only the Englishman hoped to stop giving in under that look and those slimy words, Fernando put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light pat.

Lando became stiff as stone and that unexpected and unseen contact made him stand on his back and with broad shoulders. He shouldn't have had that reaction, he could hear the photographers in turmoil and the shots increase dramatically at the sight of that moment that surely would have been interpreted in many ways, especially for the look that the Englishman took: he opened his eyes wide and pulled an immense sigh, his shoulder was burning and his whole body was rebelling, it was screaming at the feel of that recognizable and painful contact on his skin. He felt his wrists, his neck, the inside of his thighs aching as if someone had tied rose thorns to him and squeezed them to sink them into his skin. He felt his blood boil and burn as if boiling oil had been injected into his veins. He felt all his certainties collapse under his feet and break like glass, he was convinced in a very short time that he would no longer be able to recover, even with the support of his friends. Fernando was able to destroy him, to make it tiny and defenseless with a simple touch, he had reached this level of power, and this greatly enhanced him.

It was a moment, but Lando felt himself dying, until finally the Spaniard broke the physical contact and the 21-year-old was able to breathe again, to feel relief. From the outside it might have seemed like a simple gasp in everyone's eyes, but for Lando it all lasted hours, endless moments of pain and projections of weeks earlier.

Max, sitting at the other end of the table, hearing all those shots and observing all the astonished gazes of those present, leaned forward to pass Sebastian and Valtteri and observe what was happening, earning not a little perplexed glances from the German and the Finnish. Lando did not return his gaze, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that his friend's suspicions were growing more and more alive and that he had surely got both of them in trouble with that exaggerated reaction.

Lando was hating himself, he was accusing himself of not having enough self-control to keep his cool under that contact, but someone outside should have told him he shouldn't blame himself: he couldn't tolerate Carlos and Max's touches, let alone those of him, who broke him and ruined his person.

Max returned to his seat with a patently furious look, while Lando's eyes became bright. He avoided arousing further suspicion by running a hand over his face, eliminating those principles of tears that were forming, and then trying to regain a neutral expression.

The conference continued fairly straightforward, but Lando and Max were absent and distracted for different reasons. The only thing the Dutchman wanted at that moment was to get out of that room to confirm all his doubts and perplexities, while Lando needed to go back to his room to take a shower to get rid of that horrible feeling that hand he left on his skin, and then let go of the tears he had withdrawn in that time.

⁂

The Red Bull driver got up in a hurry and just as quickly removed the microphone from him to head to his garage for answers.

Lando noticed it, and despite the fact that he was about to collapse on his own legs from the exhaustion he felt, he decided to join him. Another time he cared more for others when it wasn't the time, yet another.

"Max! Max!" He walked after him and stopped him right at the exit of the room, pulling him back to him by the elbow to allow other people to leave the room.

Max turned abruptly to the Englishman, looking at him with a stern and frowning look. "What." It was far from peaceful. He was nervous, agitated, his heart was pumping.

"I know what you are thinking, please." Lando, on the other hand, was looking at him with two beaten-dog eyes that were clearly begging him not to do anything rash as he let go of his arm.

"If that's what i think Lando, I swear that-"

"I know what you are going to do, and I am stopping you at the start. I know you, and I already know that if you do what you intend to do you will ruin me, you, and the whole sporting world. We can discuss it civilly, please." The drastic height difference between the two made Lando feel even smaller than the Dutchman, but he had to assert his determination.

"Tell me what the fuck happened before I made a mess." Max was more and more nervous, his breathing was more and more accelerated and he had to bite the inside of his cheeks not to raise his voice too much so as not to be heard among the few remaining in the room.

"Yes Max, I'll tell you, but please, now let's g-" Lando froze in place when behind Max, several meters away, he spotted Fernando, leaning against the door jamb, looking at the two smiling.

Max whirled around to see what Lando had noticed that had left him with the words stuck in his throat, and as soon as he saw him his blood boiled so hot in his veins that anyone who touched him would probably get burned. He totally lost control, his rational and conscious part was completely canceled and, like a maddened bull, he set off to charge the Renault driver.

Fortunately Lando had the reflexes ready enough to stop him in the bud of his run by grabbing him by the arm and pulling him closer to him, looking around and hoping that no one had noticed them, especially among the photographers.

Max decided not to go any further but continued to look at Fernando with an angry and furious look, full of anger.

The Spaniard did not flinch at all, he remained comfortably leaning against the jamb with that stupid smile printed on his face.

"Max. Max please look at me. Max!" This time the Englishman did not let go of the Dutchman's limb. He knew that it was now useless to try to reason with the 23-year-old driver, completely irrational when he was in the grip of these attacks, but deep down he knew that from now on it would be a ruin for him. Max had discovered everything, so Fernando had the green lights to further destroy Lando and make him suffer again. That's why he smiled, that's why he did everything he could to make Lando collapse so that he could talk about it with his friends, he didn't expect anything else.

The Spaniard happily left the room. Max no longer saw him in his field of vision, so he partially regained his mind and looked back at Lando in anger. "What the fuck did that monster do to you." Their noses almost touched. Lando felt oppressed, Max was too close and too unconscious to try to have a quiet dialogue with him.

"Max, please. Let's get out of here." Lando looked around again in tremendous fear that someone else might hear them. He wanted to go out, he wanted to get some air, he felt claustrophobic.

Max got tired of hearing that statement again and sprinted out of the room, followed soon after by a surprised Lando.

The two avoided anyone and tried to take as little time as possible to reach the Red Bull driver's motorhome, a few hundred meters from the briefing room.

Lando was struggling to keep up with Max, his legs were shaking and struggling to keep him standing, but in a few painful minutes he was finally able to stop and get into the Dutchman's vehicle, probably the only safe place in the entire paddock.

Max closed the door behind him and stared at the McLaren driver for answers. "So?" He could scream, he could burst into a frustrated scream or even throw something in the throes of adrenaline, but he managed to control himself not to cause even more dismay in English.

"It doesn't matter what happened, Max. But it matters what will happen now that you've found out." Lando put his hands in his hair and threw himself sitting on the sofa, lowering his head, his breathing was getting heavy.

"I hope you're kidding! So it's true, that asshole abused you?!" His voice broke under the last sentence, his eyes moistened and he was anything but angry at the utterance of those words. It was broken.

"Why do you think I haven't told anyone, huh Max?!" He jumped up from the sofa and loaded the Dutchman, now a few centimeters separated them. "How do you think everyone would react if they found out that a driver did such a thing?! It wouldn't do any good but aggravate my situation even more. I'm already losing sleep at the thought of you risking a lot because of me, even more so if to say something like that, which would change absolutely nothing! " Lando vented heavily towards his friend screaming like he had never done before. His eyes inevitably let out some tears and his face turned red, he felt a big lump in his throat.

Max no longer answered. The only reaction that probably spoke more than his words was to run a hand along his face in an expression as indecipherable as frightening.

Lando swallowed, afraid of the Dutchman's reaction, but decided to continue. "I stopped you at the start because if you let yourself go to your instincts then you would go to the wrong side, and I would never forgive it to me Max, do you understand me?" He lowered his voice and tried to tell his friend that everything was okay, if they both stayed quiet everything would be fine.

"Who else knows." Max was standing in place but trembling, his clenched fists making his knuckles white.

"Carlos. He was very understanding towards me and accepted my choice. Do it you too Max, please, it would be the greatest favor you could ever do to me." Unlike Carlos, Max was not very good at his word. He could also accept Lando's words, then head to the Renault garage and spoil Fernando in front of everyone to prove what a monster he was. But Lando trusted Max, he knew for sure that once he regained his lucidity, his friend would understand and respect him.

Lando, to avoid further protests from the 23-year-old, took an action that required a lot of physical effort: he hugged him.

He threw himself into his arms and clung to his very rigid body hoping that this would help Max make him feel better, let him know that there was no need to worry as long as he remained there by his side.

Max unexpectedly let go of that hug and slowly relaxed his body. He wanted to cry, he wanted to wet his whole face in tears, but he held back. He felt terrible, but inside he promised himself that he would never, ever break Lando's promise, it would not be correct, despite his intent being totally the opposite.

Lando wanted to tell him that everything would improve with time and that his condition would gradually recover, but he couldn't, not anymore.

Those words of Fernando, those who promised him that he would make him suffer as never before if he had talked about it to someone, had been rumbling in his head since Carlos discovered everything, and now they throbbed against the Englishman's temples because it was clear to both of them that Max knew everything.

He would never have thought and especially hoped to say it, but the worst was yet to come for him. Yet, as usual, he cared more for his dear friends.


	4. Betrayal of Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So if I told you where I am now it would be just to ask you to kill me, because I'm not able to do it on my own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: this chapter contains a mention / inclusion on self-harm (as I have also updated in the tags). If you are sensitive to this type of act, DO NOT READ.  
> I warned you.

Lando was in his hotel room. After a long and tiring day of free practice and interviews, he needed some time to himself to try not to think about anything. Sleeping was out of the way, and that certainly wouldn't have helped for the days to come when he would have to have his mind clear and rested, but that was one of the last problems that he had. Many drivers lost sleep due to sessions or races gone wrong, for him it was just a different case. His physiotherapist looked at him with a crooked eye: he more than anyone knew the psycho-physical conditions of Lando, and despite the two had spoken and the English had asked him not to say anything to the medical body that monitored the men and women of Formula 1, he said that if the situation became too serious and unsustainable for his patient he would point it out to the FIA, and Lando could only be in silent disagreement, but nod accepting, then being told by a bunch of doctors in shirts that all that time he was living with post-traumatic stress disorder, bipolar disorder, personality disorder, misandry, anhedonia and who knows what else. 

It was evening in the always awake Monte Carlo, several drivers were for sure at some improvised party in the hotel rooms or at parties in the expensive clubs of the Côte d'Azur. Lando felt almost at peace in his quiet room watching life go on outside his balcony, while the cool breeze that traveled through his curly hair and caressed his bare skin gave him a pleasant feeling, In addition to the harmonious sound of the yachts swaying in the waters of the gulf and the festivities and music that there was in them came muffled to the ears of the young and thoughtful Englishman.

He watched the cars roam the streets below him like a cat resting on the roofs of houses curious to discover the lives of humans. He was immersed in recognizing the brand and model of every car that passed under his eyes, being Monaco full of different and expensive specimens, probably more than any other city. Here it was where life never died, where you never stayed in silence and never slept, and yet Lando here always liked to stay for his own without going to be a party animal or drinking alcohol in his hotel room with his closest friends, as he used to do in other venues for the races. Now more than ever he didn't feel like seeing anyone, thinking about anyone, even though his head was trying so hard to damn him. He should have thought of Max, to the fact that even he was in danger now and at risk of putting him in danger, he should have thought of Carlos, to the fact that he was in an uncomfortable position, and how much he was working to keep it secret, and how grateful Lando was for it. He'd have to think of himself, he'd have to think of himself over everyone else, but he didn't. As usual. Typical of Lando; too unselfish and good for the world he was in. He should have let anger, hatred and wickedness prevail in revenge, in order to make anyone who had broken it suffer until he had taken it all away, but he did not. Typical of Lando. At the thought of becoming like those people he felt bad, he could not, he did not want to imagine himself in their clothes, he was not like this, he would never become it, perhaps. He was too good and naive, probably everything he felt inside would explode overnight and turn him into a monster. No, he wasn't like this, he would never be like that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cell phone notification. Damn phone. Always bringing him back to Earth. Puffing he walked away from the balcony to go back to the room and grab the device to verify who or what caused that sound: it was a message.

_> How are you?_

Three simple words. A simple request, but enough to make him think about how to answer.

_Not bad, where are you? <_

It was clear that it was one of Carlos' many checks to see if Lando was alone and what he was doing, the Spaniard was always on the alert despite the fact that his friend had told him not to forget his private life to keep up with him and control him everywhere.

_> I'm at a club with some of the guys. Are you alone?_

Their conversations had become mostly like this: always a message from Carlos, a vague answer from Lando and a question to ask if the Englishman was with someone.

_Yes. <_

A dry, robotic response. That didn't reveal anything but the truth.

_> If you need help or if you feel weird, call, I'm nearby. It takes me nothing to be there._

It seemed as if he had gone beyond the simple answer of the Englishman and interpreted differently what was written in the message.

_Go have some fun, idiot ;) <_

He couldn't see the Spaniard's expression, but he certainly knew he was smiling, smiling like when you read the messages of the person you love. Except that the person in question, in Carlos' case, was his closest friend. And the love of a friendship often surpasses that of a relationship.

_> I'll just do it for you, bitch._

Lando, on the other hand, did not smile. He simply locked the phone, put it back on the nightstand, and made his way back to his balcony.

Even before he was out of the room, however, the cell phone rang again. Not for a notification, but for a call.

Lando, who had his back turned, looked at the phone out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to talk to anyone, whoever it was who was calling him. However, he changed direction and headed for the device that vibrated incessantly on the bedside table. He looked at the number: it wasn't a saved contact. It was a series of random numbers that told Lando nothing except that he shouldn't have taken that call. One part of him was quivering with the urge to grab his cell phone and answer it, while the other, probably his sixth sense, was telling him to let it ring and then go on with his life without ever thinking about it again. Lando stared at his phone from above while it didn't stop ringing and vibrating for a moment, until he finally made up his mind and answered, paying attention to the too curious and naive part that still burned inside him.

"Hello?" He answered in confusion after slowly putting the phone to his ear. His body was probably one step ahead, as his heart started pumping wildly and releasing adrenaline everywhere.

_"Where are you in this moment, little Lando?"_

The Englishman immediately recognized that voice, although it was slightly distorted by the cell phone. His body was cunning and ready to let him know that panic would be his first reaction, so he immediately snapped up to react to every signal of danger.

Lando had to start inhaling and exhaling, as Max had told him, to try not to collapse into another panic attack. He should have interrupted the call and called Carlos for moral support, but the adrenaline and fear were nullifying his rational side and awakening an evil side in Lando, a side that wanted to spit liters of hate that monster who now had the nerve to call him and ask him where he was.

"How did you get my number." It was not a request or a cordial question. It was an intimation, an order that claimed to be carried out. Lando was completely annihilating himself, giving space only to his more instinctive, animalistic and authoritarian side. He wouldn't let that monster take anything else from him, he had already taken too much. He decided to challenge him for the second time, and it wasn't going to go like the first.

 _"Please, all our dear colleagues love me. Just ask anyone who knows you. Not that you don't have many friends anyway."_ It was also possible to hear the smile that formed on the Spaniard's face as he humiliated Lando for the umpteenth time.

That's right, Lando didn't have many friends, and why even one of them should have given Fernando his number, he couldn't explain it. Not that he was being able to think straight, his blood was boiling with the further humiliation that being was reserving for him. Normally he would shut up and suffer, but the stress, the lost hours of sleep, the fatigue, weren't helping him at all.

"What do you want from me." Another intimation. Lando was staring into space in front of him as he kept his shoulders wide and could hear his phone about to crack in its tight grip.

 _"Know where you are."_ Fernando, on the other hand, had a peaceful and patently false tone. He wanted to play with Lando, and knowing himself he would have succeeded perfectly.

"As if you don't know that too." The Englishman kept his teeth and fists clenched as he turned towards the door of his room, walking towards it and locking it.

 _"Who do you think I am? I haven't gotten to that level of obsession."_ Fernando still had a smile, but his tone had become more serious.

Lando took a soft sigh which he caught in his throat. "You know I could be recording this call, right? And then that would be serious trouble for you?" Lando whirled around and walked stiffly to the center of his room. He uttered that sentence with so much determination that he was perfectly aware that he had landed a successful shot in Fernando's spirit.

 _"Oh, but aren't you the one who cares for others first than for himself? That you would never tarnish the name of Formula 1 for a single individual?"_ Wrong. Fernando always had a counterattack ready to hurt Lando and make him collapse, he was too experienced and twisted-minded for the poor little Englishman.

The 21-year-old began to feel the weight on his shoulders. He began to feel all his resolve crumble beneath his feet. He should have kept his irrational side alive for a little while longer, but the knowledge that some of his closest friends had revealed his fears to Fernando was not only a crazy thought but also destructive. He felt betrayed, he felt surrounded by false and selfish individuals.

 _"And also you are the one who is using a dangerous and intractable tone between the two, don't you think so, Lando?"_ Fernando continued to speak over the knot that was forming in the Englishman's throat and over the tears that were coming to life in his eyes.

He would have liked to scream at him who told him those things, how he knew so much about him and which of his friends had turned his back on him, but it would have been like admitting that Fernando was right, and he would never have allowed it. never.

"Go fuck yourself, you bastard monster." There was so much pain in that insult that it was more than a fact, but there was also so much anger, so much hate. At that moment he would have been able to make even death itself shiver.

 _"Lower the tone, kid."_ Fernando suddenly became serious, he regained that authoritarian and severe tone that Lando immediately remembered that Sunday in Spain. _"You can be so determined through a phone, but you just need my hand around your neck to lower yourself to the level of a dog, of a useless beast."_ Those words so sharp and vivid in Lando's mind caused a horrible shiver to go down his spine that did nothing but make the images he lived in the Renault motorhome and the sensations he felt in the longest and worst minutes of his life more vivid than ever.

"Leave me alone..." Lando began to cry silently, his voice breaking. He was losing again. It wasn't like in a video game or his favorite movie. In the real world, the good guys never win, it's always the bad guys, the monsters.

Fernando clicked his tongue several times in dissent. _"I made a promise Lando, and I intend to keep it. Tell me where you are, otherwise when we meet again on the track it will become even more of a nightmare for you, I assure you."_ He was more serious and honest than ever, Lando could hear it in his voice.

"You're insane..." Lando abandoned himself to the bed, sitting on the edge and almost letting himself go to the soft mattress. He had his head down and a hand in his hair, his voice was coming out less and less loud and more and more painful.

 _"No, the crazy one of the two is you, Lando. And you are perfectly aware of that."_ He almost laughed, Lando's statement was almost ironic.

"You ruined my life!" Lando jumped to his feet screaming as if Fernando was there in front of him, his eyes were red and his veins bulging. He uttered that sentence with so much dismay and despair that surely it was possible to hear the screams of the Englishman two or three rooms away. "For what?! For a stupid race! Was it so necessary to make me pay like this for something that happened on a track and it wasn't even my fault?! No I'm not the crazy one, fuck sake! " Lando placed his fist on the wall and then his forehead, he felt the adrenaline flow back into his body, but it was a toxic, malignant adrenaline, of what makes you gradually aware of what you are going through and how you really feel. The young man was gasping, he felt physically fatigued and exhausted, he couldn't take it anymore.

Suddenly he lowered his voice so as not to risk being heard by people in the other rooms, thus making the rupture and despair in his words more evident. "Do you have any idea of the time I've been through these weeks? How hard it has been for me to try to keep everything hidden so as not to screw everyone's work for the piece of shit you are? How much sleep I lose because I think about my friends and relive that fucking moment over and over? How much am I losing my passion for racing and for life itself? How much is it getting more and more impossible for me to live? These things don't make you feel even a little bit guilty, huh?! Don't they make you feel even a shred of humanity, even if I doubt you have any left? Don't they make you even a little aware that you destroyed the life of a twenty-one year old for your sick perversion?!" Contrary to what he believed, Lando had never been more lucid and rational: what he was letting go of with so much ease and yet so much effort was the result of weeks of pure pain, confusion and apprehension, of uncertainty about his future and for that of others, which made him feel sick and nauseated, of his weight loss, of the inability to look at his naked body again, of the inability to be happy. Normally he would never have been able to let off steam like this with anyone, especially with the direct cause of his downfall, but it had become all too overwhelming, all too unbearable for anyone, let alone a young and sunny 21-year-old that love life.

"So if I told you where I am now it would be just to ask you to kill me, because I'm not able to do it on my own, I'm too coward and human." He was out of breath, he was starting to see black. He had to sit back and focus on his breathing movements, his head was alert but his body was about to collapse.

Fernando had remained silent, but by now Lando hadn't even had the illusion of winning against him anymore, it was just a personal outburst and one of the first signs of the young man's definitive collapse.

 _"What has changed after this useless outburst, Lando? You are still the same kid as before, nobody loves you and you are realizing it too. People are selfish, hypocritical, they just want their interest, and I am one of them , nothing more, nothing less."_ He resumed speaking once he made sure that Lando had ended up delivering another, devastating blow.

As much as it made him feel even worse, Lando was learning to accept that everything Fernando said was true simply from a fact and not from the knowledge that the Spaniard had entered his mind and was manipulating it as he pleased like clay.

 _"How do you think I know all these things about you? One of your closest friends, your dear Max, is also one of them. Like everyone else."_ One name was enough. A very important name for unleashing a trigger in Lando that to define destructive was little.

The 21-year-old felt his feeble heart sink into an endless void. His first instinct was not to believe those words, but they were concepts so strong and specifically aimed at emptying him completely and hitting him at his weakest and deepest point that he could not even conceive how those sentences could be fictitious.

"You're lying." Another crack in his voice, probably the most desperate, the most corrupt, the definitive sign that Lando's soul had definitely been taken away. Only an empty, marble cocoon was left, lifeless.

 _"Why should I? Think about it. He is the only one besides Carlos, of course, who has come to know the matter, and we both know that Max is not a reasonable and lucid person like Carlos, who would put the good of his friends, the lives of his friends before his. He would do anything to free you from your condition and consequently eliminate me. He would do anything to force you to confess so that I am out of the way and you can sleep peacefully without breaking your promise."_ Fernando was serious. Too serious to even reveal a moment of uncertainty and staging.

As the Spaniard spoke, Lando was losing more and more knowledge of the time and reality around him, he was becoming all without form, no longer meaningful to be there in that place, including him. By now inside him he no longer felt either a rational or an instinctive part, he felt only a single, repetitive thought, already imprinted in the young man's mind and that echoed throughout his mass: nobody loved him. Nobody. From first to last, they were all monsters, they had nothing different from Fernando. He didn't feel hate, he didn't have the strength, he just felt like a light bulb lighting up inside him that finally gave him the awareness of those who really surrounded him. They weren't friends, they weren't colleagues, they were all like Fernando.

 _"You know what? I no longer want to give you the torment apathetic as you are, and I don't even intend to give you the satisfaction of taking your life. Who knows, maybe you will grow up enough to be able to do that on your own too. See you on track, dear Lando."_ He finished sharply and then ended the call.

Those were very strong words, but Lando found nothing more than yet another echo of something too material for him at that moment. He had remained with the phone to his ear staring at a point that could be the floor as well as the wall, for Lando nothing had shape anymore, nothing had an outline anymore. His hand decided to answer on its own by letting go of the phone, letting it fall to the ground in a motion that seemed to last for hours. The only sound Lando heard was the sound of his breathing, everything else around him was silent, there was no sound, it seemed as if he were in a totally empty room with an indefinite dimension. It seemed to him as if everything around him had slowed down; every movement, every event, every motor activity that his body was desperately trying to do so as not to collapse. The boy heard a whistle, an infinite and shrill whistle, the only sound present besides his linear breathing. It seemed as if a grenade had exploded in his proximity, the exhaustion and the feeling of not being all in one piece was the same, with the only difference that Lando did not know when it would end, he did not know IF it would end. To tell the truth, Lando just didn't know. His brain was completely blanked out, he seemed about to shut down completely, or so Lando would have hoped. He would have liked to let himself die under his command, he would have wanted to let himself die to finally find peace, he would have wanted to let himself die to stop feeling everything and nothing, as he was happening at that moment. But the human body is a perfect machine, until it decides it will do everything to keep the functions that keep us alive and active. As long as it knows that there is still something to do in this world, it will do everything to get it. Lando's body was trying to do just that, but without receiving any collaboration or support from its host, so it had to resort to a naked and crude method to bring Lando back to reality: the young man's gaze rested, in an indefinite and lazy movement, towards the bathroom. His sight then decided to focus on the razor blade resting on a sink cabinet. That was the only way to awaken Lando from his catalepsy to regain consciousness and rationality of what surrounded him, or perhaps it was the only way that could alleviate the pain that Lando was feeling, too immense and overwhelming to even be able to conceive inside of him. No matter how many cuts he made and how deep, they still weren't enough to ease the pain that lay inside him right now.

With each step he took he could feel his organs inside him bounce and move. He could hear the sound of his feet landing on the ground penetrating his ears and rumbling in his brain despite the fact that they made no sound from the outside. It took him four long strides to reach his target, and a slow motion of his hand to gently and carefully grasp the blade. With his other hand he removed the protective plastic and with his breathing and the continuous whistle that became more and more overwhelming, he did not have time to rest the blade on one of his wrists and apply a slight pressure that he passed out, falling to the ground in a violent thud and ceasing to feel the emptiness around him. He did not know if he was dying, but in that brief moment of consciousness he hoped for it with all his being.

⁂

"Lando! Lando!" Once again his vision was blurred, much more so than last time. His breath overwhelmed every surrounding sound and that distant voice he heard seemed like an echo, until he was able to focus on what was in front of him: Max stood in front of his face, and kept calling him, receiving no stimulus despite his eyes were open. It took him more time for his body to rekindle to sense that the Dutchman was shaking him and more to realize he was lying on the ground with his body facing the ceiling.

Gradually that sense of being underwater that did not allow him to distinguish well the sounds around him dissolved, so he was able to fully focus and feel his body functioning again, immediately feeling a severe pain in his head.

"Lando! Can you hear me? Say something!" Max tried to call him again even more apprehensive and worried, shaking him with more energy.

Lando's pupils suddenly widened and the boy drew a tired sigh, filling his lungs with air and capturing an enormous amount of air, as if he had stopped breathing until that moment.

"Oh my God." Max heaved a sigh of relief realizing that his friend was better than he thought.

Lando coughed several times and with no small effort managed to roll over on his stomach and then stretch out his arms and pull away from the floor. He turned abruptly and sat down on the ground banging his buttocks hard on the ground, not having enough oxygen in his body that could allow him to strain his muscles too much.

The Dutchman broke off physical contact with his friend and sat down on his lap too, watching him from a short distance away.

It took Lando a few more seconds to realize that Carlos was standing behind Max, standing upright with an expression with an expression that to say terrified was little.

The 21-year-old looked around lost, as if he had no memory of where he was and how he had ended up in those conditions. "W-what happened?" He asked innocently, every word he spoke felt like a pang in his head.

"You tell us! We tried to call you dozens of times! Sometimes it gave a busy line, but then it rang empty. We spent 20 minutes trying to contact you without any response, we got worried and so we decided to come here to your room. The door was closed and you didn't even answer while we were trying to knock and call you from the other side, so we had to force it. We get inside and we find you on the ground with a razor blade beside you, what the fuck is going on Lando?! " Max uttered in one breath almost screaming, his face was red and he was clearly shaken.

Lando felt the headache grow even more vivid as Max spoke, he had to take a few seconds to process everything his friend had said.

"Fernando called me." He said after a while, without emotion or apprehension, staring blankly away.

The Dutchman and the Spaniard gasped almost in unison and exchanged a quick knowing glance that spoke more than anything else: they were frightened, but they were furious, angry.

"He wanted to know where I was... ah." His voice grew more and more lazy, tired and aching, but his tone was apathetic and robotic. He tried to change position to stand up, but was hit by yet another pain in his head that prevented him from fulfilling his intention.

"What were you doing with the razor blade in your hand, Lando?" Max asked swallowing and lowering his voice a few octaves, scrutinizing every detail of the Englishman's face.

Carlos was in shock, he didn't speak. He was simply staring at the floor leaning against the sink and biting his nails in a schizophrenic way.

Lando took the bridge of his nose and then lightly pushed his fingers into his eyes, squeezing them and trying to relieve the pain. "I wanted to shave, what do you think." He jerked his hand away from his face and looked at Max with a look that finally revealed something: contempt.

"We need you to tell us everything Lando, from the first to the last detail you remember." At the 23-year-old, that look came almost like a stab in the chest, but he decided to hide it and endure it, returning Lando's gaze, staring at him with empathy and concern.

"No, I'm not going to fucking tell you anything." The Englishman stood erect and widened his shoulders, looking at the two with that one emotion that could show through his eyes, hard and sharp as blades.

"But- Lando..." Max could not get angry or fight back, he was equally shocked and shaken by the scene he witnessed and by the fear that pervaded him in the previous minutes.

"No, I don't want to hear you. Get out of my room." Lando pulled back his back slightly to further increase the distance between him and the Dutchman, being close to him made him feel bad, made him even more venom in his brain, more than he already felt.

Max stared at Lando, or what was left of him, with a desperate look and his eyes clearly shining and shattered. The one in front of him was no longer his best friend, and he almost didn't want to believe it. He wanted to answer, he wanted to tell him that everything would be okay if he collaborated and vented with his friends, but now it no longer mattered: Lando had definitely sunk into the abyss, and would never go up again.

Carlos, without saying a word, understood it immediately, and without making any further effort Max, shaken as much as he was, put a hand on his shoulder and motioned with his head to be followed as he began his walk out of the Englishman room. It was impossible to have a confrontation with the 21-year-old, at least until he recovered.

Max welcomed his gaze and his touch and lazily got up from the ground, not before having given a last, desperate look at Lando who begged him on his knees to return to them and get help, to no avail.

Lando did not even follow them with his eyes: he stood staring at the razor blade on the ground with an expression full of hate. He had definitely regained his lucidity, he was more aware than ever of his body and his head, after a long time.

The two left the room and slowly closed the door looking at the Englishman's back, still motionless on the ground.

The 21-year-old looked at the entrance to his room out of the corner of his eye and waited for another time in which he turned again to engage his cell phone in his field of vision. His expression was so terrifying and without any emotion and light that it could have petrified anyone.

With great effort and with the help of the sink, Lando regained strength in his legs as well and got up from the ground, feeling a light out of breath as soon as he was finally standing.

He looked at the phone again and after recovering from the little effort he felt he walked towards it and unlocked it. He went into his call log and looked for the unknown number who called him who knows how long ago, Lando didn't remember, and he didn't even care.

Without any hesitation the boy clicked and called Fernando, holding the phone to his ear and nervously waiting for an answer, he was bothering to wait.

After five rings a voice on the other side answered, unmistakable. _"Have you suddenly grown up?"_ Fernando was serious, but he still managed to put a pinch of irony in order to make fun of Lando.

"Where are you." That voice no longer frightened him, on the contrary it irritated him not a little, making him feel the blood boiling inside him. His heart hadn't stopped beating wildly in all that time, his body was alert. Too alert.

 _"Uh, you are definitely and suddenly grown up."_ Fernando was genuinely surprised by the authority he encountered in his voice, but he still managed to laugh at it, Lando's attempt to be threatening amused him. Lando. Threatening. Two words that didn't fit very closely together, or so the Spaniard believed.

"I'm tired of wasting time, I want answers. Tell me where you are." Lando clenched his fists hard again, his free hand exhibiting white knuckles. He wanted a direct face-to-face confrontation, without invisible looks and distorted voices.

 _"Has the situation been reversed? Do you remember that I asked you first, or did you completely reset yourself?"_ There was still a tone of irony in the Spaniard's voice, he couldn't take that situation seriously.

Lando growled in frustration and ran a hand through his hair as he turned away from the room. That ape on the part of the 39-year-old was doing nothing but make him even more nervous, he would have been able to turn the whole room upside down in a fit of rage such was the adrenaline and stress circulating in his body. "I won't tell you where my room is." The Englishman had no intention of giving it to Fernando.

 _"Okay. Then adiós."_ But the latter was always one step ahead of the young McLaren driver. He hung up the call, earning another angry growl from Lando.

Fernando knew that he would prevail, even without having a dialogue with the Englishman, who in fact called him back immediately afterwards. Lando was young, naive, impatient, he needed attention, to feel superior in moments like this, in moments where he believed he was on top of the world and that he could face anyone. He couldn't tolerate Fernando fucking Alonso hanging up on him. Hanging up on him? After he almost threatened him to get his whereabouts and now he also had the nerve to laugh at Lando over a phone and cut off the call? Absolutely not, it was unacceptable. The Englishman put the phone back to his ear waiting for an immediate answer and in a moment of clarity he realized what he was doing: he was going to hole up directly in the lion's den, he was looking for Fernando to have him there in front of him, he was giving him the free chance to touch him, to hurt him.

That thought, however, was nipped in the bud, because the latter answered the call almost immediately after hanging up the previous one. _"Come on, try again."_ Now Fernando was serious too, aware that Lando had given in. He had it in hand now.

Lando heaved a sigh. "Room one hundred and twelve. Second floor." He concluded through gritted teeth, and then attacked the call without giving the 39-year-old time to make fun of him again. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the notifications, only now noticing the various calls and countless unread messages sent by Carlos and Max. Lando's throat snapped and in a sudden and uncontrolled rush he threw the phone at the wall in front of him violently, then sitting down and abandoning himself to the edge of the bed and putting his hands in his hair. The only things going around in his head were that his closest friends had betrayed his trust only for their sake and for the safety of the sport. They were never interested in Lando, they always just thought of themselves, Lando knew that he could no longer trust any human being, his closest and dearest human beings had shown him that there was no good in this world, not even among friends who almost see themselves as family.

Someone knocked on the door of the boy's bedroom, preventing him from once again feeling sorry for himself and letting himself go to the knowledge that there was no room for good people like him in the world. He had to get angry, nasty, brutal if he wanted to have a hope against the world. He stood up and walked to the door. The moment he approached the hand to the handle without opening the door, he gathered all his irrationality and instinct to himself, he had to let hatred speak for him, because if it had been clarity and rationality to do so for him he would have had no escape,he could not do anything against Fernando. He heaved a quick sigh and opened the door, finding the Spaniard in his room in such a quick step that if he blinked he wouldn't even notice.

Lando closed the door behind him and looked at Fernando who was now in the center of his room and looking around, as comfortable as if he were in his own house. Suddenly the two met their gazes for the second time ever since that Sunday, and Lando could not help but feel suddenly small, he could feel his shoulders hunch forward, his back bend and his head drop. All the self-assurance he had laboriously built within him was collapsing again with ease. Fernando had this power over the boy: he had crept into his head so much that only his eyes told him everything the Spaniard intended to do to the Englishman and all the bad thoughts he reserved only for him. The eye contact they were having now was not as trivial as the one they had on the truck: it was deep, intense, the atmosphere was denser, the air was heavy. It was just the two of them again. In Lando's room. The Englishman was almost repenting.

"So?" Fernando was tired of just looking at the 21-year-old, it wouldn't have been fun to make him collapse with just his eyes, even though he knew it would be easy.

Lando suddenly shook his head and tried to regain the posture he had previously assumed, although by now they both knew it was just a rind, an apparent and useless armor. "I want concrete evidence that Max told you everything." Lando's head was spinning, he no longer knew who to believe. He had always been someone who gave second chances, especially to his friends, and this occasion was no exception, but the fact that he was asking Fernando for confirmation meant that he was really desperate.

"Why didn't you ask him?" The Spaniard crossed his arms and relaxed his body looking at the boy from several meters away, the young man still leaning against the door.

"He will never tell me the truth." Lando hardened his gaze, swelling further and managing to maintain eye contact with Fernando without too much trouble.

"And why do you think I would tell you?" The driver raised his head slightly while continuing to look at the Englishman and let out a small laugh.

He was right. Lando did not have a good spirit in front of him. He had a liar and a serial manipulator. What had jumped into his mind, to challenge Alonso so unprepared and psychologically destroyed, also revealing his position. Anger and hatred had blinded his conscience, now he was starting to see concrete again. He wanted Carlos and Max. No, he didn't need them, Lando thought. They had betrayed his friendship, his purity, his weakness, they had to be the ones to come back to him to pray to him on their knees.

"Because you have no reason to lie to me." He improvised without waiting too long. Lando had never realized that Fernando had lied to him from the beginning, ever since he addressed all those beautiful words to him about his talent and his skill, even those were capable of manipulating his head at will of the Spaniard, and Lando is always been too psychologically weak and naive to realize it.

"Why do you say this?" Fernando continued looking at the ground for a moment, giggling and putting a hand on his chin, before returning to look at the Englishman.

"Too many questions." He cut by raising the crest sharply. "I want answers." He spread his shoulders as far as possible so as not to lose his armor.

"Do you still trust him after everything he's done to you?" Fernando took a step forward, towards the young man. The canceled distance was not at all liking Lando, who was slowly feeling the air fail. As soon as the man put his foot on the ground completing his step the boy got a sudden and rapid pang to the head that threw him into the Renault motorhome once again. Despite it hurting, however, it was just what Lando wanted: for Fernando to come close. "And are you so desperate and confused that you come ask me for help? Me?" He repeated laughing and pointing to himself with both hands, he couldn't even understand how lost Lando was and out of control of his head.

Lando could sense that Fernando was playing with his head, that he was trying to belittle him and the Dutchman.

"I'm not asking you for help. I would never do it, monster. I'm just doing this to give Max another chance, because I think he would never do such a thing." He gritted his teeth and growled like a wolf ready to defend his pack. His posture had gone bad, now it no longer looked like just an armor.

"Lando, there is no room in this world to give people a second chance, especially after they throw you into the monster's arms." Another step. Another pain in the head. Lando's breathing was getting heavier, partly from adrenaline and partly from anger. Fernando was taking the bait like a fish, the boy knew that the Spaniard could not wait to get his hands on him, on this he had one more point. "They gave me free access to your head, Lando. I have full control of you, and you let me in so easily that I already found the door open." Fernando smiled and took another step, he was getting closer and closer to the young man.

"You don't know anything about me." Lando instinctively backed away, but immediately encountered the closed door, so he clung to it as much as possible. He looked into Fernando's eyes without fear.

"I know more than necessary." His gaze hardened suddenly, giving Lando a little more trouble maintaining eye contact, not to mention that he marched another step. Fernando was very close to feeling Lando's tiny body close to his own, and at the very thought thrills of pleasure ran impatiently down his spine.

Lando wanted to smile, but held himself back so as not to arouse suspicion. Fernando was still a man, a sick man. His physical impulses were the only thing he had no control over and mastered, they were really the only thing Lando could hope to manipulate.

"Then prove it to me." Lando heaved a big sigh, swelling his lungs drastically, preparing to make his move.

Fernando moved closer, now a few centimeters broke the distance between the two. Lando was ready to act, to take advantage of the only chance he would have, but he wanted to make sure he got it right, so he waited a few seconds.

A mistake, because Fernando did what the Englishman would never have foreseen: he kissed him. A soft, delicate kiss, almost made of silk.

However, it was not the same thing that Lando felt, who on the contrary tried to tighten his lips so as not to feel that sick mouth touch his. It stung like thorns, especially after Fernando used his tongue to add more of him inside Lando, who couldn't do anything but try to stay still as much as possible. He was suddenly paralyzed, he could have done a thousand things: he could have continued his first intent, which was to hit Fernando hard between his legs, he could have bitten his slimy tongue and cut it off, but instead he stayed there. With his mind in blackout and that sense of vomit that reminded him a lot of what he felt in the motorhome.

Only one thing was able to move him, which revealed the real reason why the Spaniard came so close: behind him he heard the click of a door closing, and did not even have time to counterattack that Fernando jerked back with a the keys in hand, looking at Lando with an amused expression.

Not even this time the boy was able to prevail. While he was preparing his seemingly winning move, Fernando had the counterattack ready, proving once again that he was four steps ahead of the 21-year-old.

"At least when I kiss you, you could put a little passion into it." The Spaniard laughed heartily and threw away the keys, so that Lando could not catch them even if he tried.

Lando's hopes collapsed again, as did his posture and his possibility of escape. His eyes suddenly became sad and demoralized, he had no way out.

"You wanted to put me out of the game huh? Where did you want to aim?" Fernando continued to smile amused by the situation, and then looked at the middle of his legs. "Oh no, I need this. do you know how much it would hurt?" The Spaniard put a hand on his crotch and tilted his head.

Lando could not collapse like this, he had to think about a next move. He looked around in a vague and schizophrenic way looking for something to land Fernando with, and his gaze rested for a moment more on a glass cup placed on a shelf in the bathroom, closer to the 39-year-old than it was compared to him. He couldn't risk it, he had to find the right moment. "Maybe it would have been the right time you kept it inside." He kept both him and Fernando busy, perhaps waiting for him to step away the requested room, even if he didn't quite know how.

"You have this effect on me, dear Lando." Fernando walked briskly towards the Englishman and crossed his arms in front of him, as if to prevent any sort of counterattack from the boy.

"You are disgusting." The 21-year-old looked at him with an expression full of disgust and scorn, he instinctively felt like squeezing his legs.

"Just outspoken." The Spaniard smiled satisfied and relaxed while continuing to look at the young man, still clinging to the door.

That's not good, Lando thought. He was wasting too much time, and it wouldn't be long before Fernando made his next move, which could be very negative and unpleasant for the boy.

Suddenly the McLaren driver took a step forward, finding himself practically face to face with the Spaniard, who in response gave him a puzzled look, raising an eyebrow.

They both knew that this was Lando's attempt to stay close to Fernando to treacherously hit him in a feline shot, but the latter would never move away to prevent this from happening, his ego blocked him. So he stood there staring intently into his eyes, ready to make him pay for the boy's first misstep.

"And you drive really bad anyway, let me tell you." A provocation. A clear and desperate move to move Fernando, the only one he had left at that point, but to his great surprise it worked. Of course it worked: Fernando was the last person who accepted criticism from other drivers, especially from kids like Lando who knew nothing about his career, who were nothing compared to him. Oh no, he didn't accept this lack of respect from a child at all.

In a quick and uncontrolled rush Fernando grabbed Lando's stomach and neck and forcing him to turn his back pushed him hard against the door, causing a loud thud.

In that instant that lasted thousandths of a second, the boy's pupils suddenly dilated making him more alert, and his heart lost several beats. Fernando's hands were holding tight and pushing his neck and lower back, and that physical contact was bringing back bad memories, but he told himself to stay calm and tough. The facade he gave against the door caused him no small dismay, but he managed to hold back a groan of pain. "Like this you'll make us hear." He tried to turn his head to look at Fernando out of the corner of his eye and even managed to let out a malicious smile. He had nothing more to lose. He himself had slipped into the mess this time and he himself would have pulled himself out of it.

"Nobody will hear you scream." Fernando, on the other hand, was more serious than ever. He looked at the body that stood under the hand pushing on Lando's back, while with the other he forced him to face against the door, pushing his forehead against it.

"And what makes you think, rookie?" Lando licked his lip and could not resist letting a smile escape, imagining the look that Fernando would have taken after that very brazen statement.

The latter growled with hot blood and removed his hand from Lando's back to violently turn him forward and slam him against the door again, causing another thud. He looked him straight in the eye with a sick look and clutching his neck. "Get that fucking smile off your face." He intimated by bringing his face closer to Lando's through gritted teeth, while he held his throat tightly with a frightening desire to break it.

Lando was winning. With the easiest and simplest of moves. He should have expected it, he should have imagined that Fernando would never tolerate a little boy treating him as such in the face of his majesty. No, he couldn't stop smiling. Fernando was pathetic, and the man between the two was undoubtedly Lando.

The Englishman gathered all his psychological will to himself and to be sure to score his move he kissed Fernando without thinking too much, also using his tongue.

It did not last long, but before Fernando could detach himself from the lips of the 21-year-old the latter pulled a mighty knee in his testicles with all the strength he could put, concentrating all his stress and frustration towards that monster in one blow just to give him a taste of what he deserved.

The Spaniard jumped a little back, so much was the friction applied to that attack, the pain he felt was so high that he was convinced he was going to faint at any moment.

Even before the 39-year-old slumped to the ground on his knees with his hands gripping his member in pain, Lando ran lightly towards the bathroom, grabbed the glass and stiffening every single muscle in his arm as much as possible, he split it on Fernando's nape letting out a loud roar.

The latter had a spasm and did not let long before finally falling to the ground flat.

The sound of the glass shattering into a thousand pieces and the sensation of the blow on Fernando's skull left Lando astonished for a few long moments, in which he had to process what he had done in the throes of a breath that seemed the same as that preceded a panic attack, bent with his hands on his knees. As he looked at the defenseless and immobile body of the Spaniard his adrenaline was dissolving, making him feel how much his heart was actually pumping, and reactivating his rational and conscientious part that made him realize that he had really found the courage and strength to do this, to take revenge. The young man's wide and expressionless eyes were the clearest proof that even he could not understand how much his body needed to do this, how much he expected nothing more, how important it was how exhausted he was, he would still find the will to act like this. He didn't know whether to be grateful or scared of this, but he didn't have time to think, he wasn't done yet. Returned to a normal posture and slightly attenuated his breath almost rushed to take the phone, still ground after he threw it several minutes earlier. His hands were shaking and he could hardly hold the cell phone in his hand, but with a lot of effort and with the sight that did not cooperate he managed to open the address book.

He had to call Max and Carlos.

He needed their help.

He owed them some explanations

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments would be very appreciated ⊂(・﹏・⊂)


End file.
